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CHARLESTON, S. C: 

WALKER. EVANS <fe COGSWELL, PRINTERS, 

No. 3 Broad street. 

1869. 



TO THE MEMORY OF MY BELOVED AUNT. 

Mrs. ELIZA C. BALL, 

WHOSE VIRTUES ARE RECORDED IN 

« THE BOOK OF LIFE," 

THIS VOLUME IS GRATEFULLY AND AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED, 

BY 

THE AUTHOR. 



OF 

PART THE FIRST. 

PAGE, 

The Christmas Tree— An Ode 1 

In Memobjam. 
Year of Grief — 1852. A series of Sonuets on the Death of 
the Eight Rev. Christopher E. Gadsden, D. D., and 

others , 5 

Voice of Wailing — Rev. Crunmore Wallace, Rector of St. 

Stephen's Chapel 28 

Our Angel Boy .. 31 

Flo wer-Stro wing 34 

A Requiem ." 36 

How Beautiful is Death 39 

Dirge 41 

On the Death of the Rev. J. Ward Simmons 43 

Sea-Chimes 44 

Death of Mrs. E. C. Gray 46 

Little Maggie 48 

The MountainRose 49 

Good-Night 51 

The Double Harvest , 52 

Helen , 54 

Christ, The Rock 57 

The Martyr Boy 59 

The Shepherd's Call 63 

My Unknown Friend 64 

Children of the Church Home 67 

Little Bet 69 

Little Harriet 69 

Confirmation at St. John's Chapel, Hampstead 71 

Confirmation , 73 



VI CONTENTS OF PART I. 

PAGE. 

First Communion ; Easter-Sunday, April 8tb, 1860 

Thoughts During Convention 77 

Easter Eve — A Fragment 79 

Whit-Sunday— Summerville, 1866 80 

Sonnet. To H. L. D 84 

Old Jack 84 

TheSad Heart 86 

Midnight Musings 88 

The Lay of a Lone Heart 

Autumnal Musings 



OF 

PART THE SECOND. 

PATKIOTIC. 

PAGE. 

Arise • 97 

Hymn of Freedom 99 

The Patriot Seer 100 

Canaan's Doom 102 

For the Germans 105 

Forts Morris and Moultrie 107 

Sonnet. To Hon. E. B. Ehett 109 

Greeting for Victory 110 

Our Banner — 113 

Old Moultrie 115 

ASister's Farewell 116 

Hampton Legion 118 

Strike the Harp 122 

Daughters of the Southern Queen 124 

" Die Here." 126 

The Fairy Festival 128 

Sonnet. To James Simons, Esq 131 

A Swell of Music 131 

Sonnet. To Paul H. Hayne 133 

The Lenten Fast of 1862 134 

Alarum 137 

A Sister's Thanksgiving 139 

Youthful Heroes. 

Death of Lt. J. E. McPherson Washington 141 

In Memory of Eichard Yeadon, Jr 143 

Sonnet. Death of Harnett 145 

A Chaplet for the Grave of E. Myddleton Goodwyn 146 

The Standard Bearer 148 

A Farewell to a Youthful Soldier.. 151 

The Pure-Hearted 153 



Vlll CONTENTS OF PART IT. 

PAGE. 

Death of E. C. Leverett, Jr., Author of "Sunshine" 

In Memory of Mrs. Cornelia M. Gregg 

MaxeyGregg 160 

Two Last Messages of Maxcy Gregg 164 

Burial of Brig. -Gen. M. Jenkins 160 

A Wild-Flower Wreath 

War-Waves 171 

Columbia , 172 

To My Sister 

New O'Connor's Child 

Lizzie 179 

Eliza 181 

Little Harriet's Dream 

An Echo from Summerville 

The Southern Boy's Lament 



0035TTE3STTS 



PART THE THIRD. 

PAGE. 

The Flower-Laden Cupid 199 

A Twilight Walk 204 

The Farewell 207 

Springtime 210 

May 212 

My Pilgrimage before leaving The Old Plantation 214 

A Portrait from Memory 220 

A Valentine 221 

Slumbering Poesy 222 

Love 225 

L'Adieu 227 

The Meeting 228 

Sonnets. To Mrs. A. B. S. and Mary F 230 

The Dreamer 232 

A Farewell to the Old Homestead 233 

My Godson in England ... 235 

Love among the Roses 238 

Strawberry Ferry— A Ballad 239 



PART THE FIRST. 




'Tis sweet, as year by year we lose 
Friends out of sight, in faith to muse 
How grows in Paradise our store. 



Then pass, ye mourners, cheerly on, 

Through prayer unto the tomb, 
Still as ye watch life's falling leaf, 
Gathering from every loss and grief 
Hope of new spring and endless home. 

TREBLE. 



THE CHRISTMAS TREE. 



AN ODE 



Hail ! hail ! bright Christmas Tree, 
Type of Love and social glee ! 
Gladly hail ! Thy branches green 
Waving o'er our festive scene, 
(Now the Jubilee of peace 
Fills our hearts with fresh increase 
Of domestic joys and pleasures, 
And Keligion's richer treasures) — 
Bring remembrance of the hour 
"When on earth the fairest flower 
That e'er bloomed in garden bright 
Oped its petals to the light ; 
When the smile of Sharon's Eose 
Did a Heavenly joy disclose j 
And the Lily of the Yale 
Breathed its odor to the gale : 
Then when love to God and man 
Through th' Eternal arches ran, 
And waves of rich harmonious song 
Floated the blue Heavens along ; 
While a glad Angelic train 
Hovered o'er Judea's plain, 
On th' astonished shepherd's sight, 
Bursting in a vision bright, 



THE CHRISTMAS TREE. 

While from every golden string 

Of their gemmed harps they fling 

Sounds seraphic — the blue air 

Yibrates to their voices clear, 

Chanting to the earth and sky, 

" Glory to God, enthroned high, 

" Love on earth to men of love, 

" And peace soft nestling as a dove !"— 

Hark ! the echo of the strain 

Dies along Judea's plain. — 

But the church in every land 

Loves to join the cherub band, 

And as year by year speeds round 

Swells the song on holy ground ; 

See her temples richly dight 

"With green leaves and berries bright ! 

And shall we no poems sing ? 

No hosannas to our King ? 

Shall we no thank-offerings bear 

To the Yirgin-born, the heir 

Of all things above — below, 

Spring whence all our blessings flow ! 

Have we no rich garbs to vie 

With the robes of Tyrian dye 

In His pathway to outspread ? 

No bright garland for the head 

Of the Prince of Peace ? Behold ! 

No rare spices y gems or gold 

Have we, for the royal stranger 

Cradled in the lowly manger, 

But we dedicate our tree, 

God of Peace and Love, to Thee ! 

Thou who our fair lot hast set 



THE CHRISTMAS TREE. 

In a goodly country, wet 

With the kindly dews of grace, 

Where the smile of Heaven we trace 

In the blessings that abound ; 

In the fruitage of the ground. 

Thou who makest us to dwell, 

Bound by Love's divinest spell — 

In fair Orbs or Circlets trine, 

That appear as one to shine ; 

God of the Christian's home and hearth, 

Deign to bless our pious mirth ! 

Thus devoted, now our rite 
We renew with glad delight — 
Banished now be every feeling 
O'er our evil natures stealing ; 
Let each emulous desire 
From our bosoms far retire ; 
Let each envious demon fly, 
Joy illumine every eye ; 
Bid each jealous sprite depart, 
Love alone fill every heart ! 

Hail our Christmas Tree ! And now 
Yield thy fruit from branch and bough. 

Here our aged matrons find 
Fruitage to delight their mind, 
Eipened by affection's ray, 
Glittering with the dewy spray 
Shed from eyes that love them best 
As their star towards the west 
Sinks — to rise with brighter ray 
In regions of Eternal Day ! 



THE CHRISTMAS TREE. 

Here our fathers and each spouse 
May from thy prolific boughs 
Gather fruits that never cloy — 
Fruits of pure domestic joy ; 
For the branch that doth them bear 
Was in Eden plucked — and here 
"Well ingrafted — ere that bower 
Fell 'neath Satan's baneful power ! 

Here the lonely -hearted find 
Leaflets of a healing kind, 
To assuage the pains that dwell 
In their bosoms' deepest cell. 

Youth and Maidens, standing fair 
On the threshold of Hope's year, 
Here are buds of Love for you 
Sparkling in affection's dew ! 

Children! lovely flowers that spring 

All about our paths, and fling 

Such strong tendrils 'round the heart — 

Come and bear away your part 

From our richly ladened Tree ; 

Come — advance in- merry glee — 

E'en our darling baby boy 

Here will find his plum of joy, 

And stretch his little arms in pleasure 

To seize upon the tempting treasure ! 

Thus our pleasant rite is ended, 
In w T hich Love and Duty blended. 
Naught remains but that our prayer 
Rise for ancient Limerick — dear 



YEAR OF GRIEF. 

To each heart within her gate ; 
Health and honor on her wait ! 
On each happy Christmas tide 
May green branches, fair and wide, 
Their rich fruitage on her shed, 
And wave above her honored head. 
Christmas, 1851. 



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WEEP NOT. 



How slight a stroke can ope the cave of Thought, 

And send its waters gushing o'er the soul, 

Where late sterility held full control, 
Soft'ning its fallow. Now to light are brought 
The flowers of Poesie and Love, inwrought 

With the rich gems of Fancy. At the gaol 

Of that bright streamlet, Hope the glittering pole 
Of his gay banner rears ; Its folds are caught 
By the glad air and flutter on her breast. 

And such a gentle touch my spirit's cell * 
Eeceived of late, from one beyond the crest 

Of blue Atlantic wave. His wizard spell, 
And wand enchanted, stirred the quiet nest 

And woke the bird its tender notes to swell. 

* Rev. Isaac Williams of England. 



6 YEAR OF GRIEF. 

II. 

How strange that I unknowing and unknown, 

Filling my little nook so far away, 

Where summer suns with burning radiance play 
O'er fields of golden rice — where winter's throne 
Is garlanded with flowers — and his zone 

Studded with sparkling gems — whose robes display 

The emerald tint of nature ; That I may 
For friend of mine a noble poet own ! 

One whose deep thoughts have moved the world I 
ween, 

(From where of royal blood, the British Queen 
Holdeth her loving state — to where the sea 
Laves with green flood the Nation of the Free) — 

.Causing all faithful souls to bow the knee 
To Jesus, in His Church and gospel seen. 

in. 

Yet is it thus : And his resounding lyre 

Hath moved the slumbering chords within my mind ; 

My thoughts heave up, as when a mighty wind 
Tosses the sea ; my soul is all on fire, 
And my heart throbs with its intense desire 

To sweep once more the strings ! Xo rest I find 

For its perturbed throes. No power to bind 
Calm trust to yon pale star should me inspire 
To hymn the fallen year. A season dark — 

Replete with sorrows to the Church and State ; 
That quenched in many a soul the vital spark, 

And sent them darkling to the gloomy gate 
Of shadowy Hades ; where in hope or fear, 
They wait the dawn of the Eternal Year. 



YEAR OF GRIEF. 



IV. 



O dismal cycle of distress and pain — 

When Death hath marched along in awful state 
Sweeping towards Eternity ! Where late 

As flowerets smiling on a sunny plain, 

Or fruitful fields of wavy golden grain, 

Our dear ones hloomed around us — Cruel Fate 
Led on the train of Death, and desolate 

Our pleasant homes and loving hearts remain. 

No more shall we our cherished friends behold ! 
No more infold them in our warm embrace ; 

No more enjoy the pleasures manifold 

Springing from sweet communion ; with them trace 

The footprints of the Shepherd of the fold, 
Where rest the flock beneath His smile of Grace. 



It dawned in gladness, the deceitful year — 
We hailed its coming with a merry chime 
Of heartfelt music, for the Christmas time 
And the Old Year, floating to meet the clear, 
Fresh day-spring of the New. Sorrow's sad tear 
Soon fell to damp the music — or sublime 
Its notes to strains cherubic ! Wintry rime 
Flung its cold shroud, all glittering and fair, 
O'er our most tender plant. The gentle child* 
Bowed his meek head upon his mother's arm, 
And his blue eyes, so beautifully mild, 

Closed for their long, long slumber ; No alarm 
Felt he at Death's approach — but sweetly smiled, 
Clothed in baptismal vesture undefiled. 

* M. G. B. died January 26th, 1852, aged 15 months. 



YEAR OF GRIEF. 



VI. 



Angel unsullied— from thy flower-strown bier 
I culled a violet and safely prest 
Between my Bible leaves — a place of rest 

Meet for the lovely token. It is there 

"Where with prophetic glance the holy seer 

Yiewed the meek infant on his mother's breast, 
Alas ! to be yet torn from that calm nest, 

And stretched on bloody rood, His death-bed drear — 

As day by day the sacred leaves I turn 
I see it shorn of beauty — but my heart 

Inshrines its essence in its golden urn : 
O may its sweetness to my life impart 

A perfume not of earth — until I yearn 

For the bright realm where richest odors burn ! 

VII. 

Again an angel's blissful voice I hear ! 

For only yesterday another gem, 

Plucked from the modest violet's quivering stem 
Springing above a grave,* a mourner there 
With trembling hand confided to my care. 

And does that earthen cavern now inhem 

A precious jewel, in the diadem 
Of Jesus yet to blaze ! In accents clear 
This solemn truth the voice of Wisdom cries, 

" The graves shall ope — the sea give up the dead/' 
Hark ! through the vaults of Heaven the echo flies — 

Angels in wonder list the awful tread 
Of the approaching judgment — and their eyes 

Look for the dawning of that Day of dread. 

* The grave of F. G. B., a lovely babe, who died after a loDg illness, 
September, 1850. 



YEAR OP GRIEF. 



VIII. 



Then thou, our beautiful ! away shalt dart 
On wing of brightness soaring, to abide 
Forever with the Saviour's glorious bride, 

A gentle dove nestled upon her heart. 

Whilst here on Earth thou hadst thy tragic part — 
To play on thy small stage. By Jesus' side 
Stretched on thy cross of agony, the tide 

Of thy short life ebbed out, 'mid cruel smart 

Caused by the serpent's sting. But long before 

Religion on the parents' hearts could pour 
The balm of healing, at the crystal gate 
Of Paradise, thy ransomed soul elate 

Sung its glad song of triumph, as of yore 

The angels at primeval Eden's door ! 

IX. 

Hark to the voice of wailing ! Deep the woe 
Of our beloved Sion. On the ground 
In her sad widowhood, her locks unbound, 
She sits forlorn in sorrow. For her flow 
Her children's bitter tears — and bending low, 
Her Priests her sacred Altars now surround 
Wrapped in deep grief and agony profound. 
What bodes this solemn, dim, funereal show ? — 
The Angel of God's Temple ta'en away ; * 
Vicegerent here below of Jesus dead — 
Her spouse, her master. Therefore is her head 
Bowed as a bulrush, and her tresses grey 
Loose in the wintry winds disordered play : — 
Our Mother must the bitter wine-press tread. 

* Bishop C. E. Gadsden died St. John Baptist's day, June 24th, 1852. 



10 YEAR OF GRIEF. 

X. 

Prone in the dust the crown and crosier lie ; 

The Apostolic vestments on the throne 

Rest all untenanted. Our Bishop gone 
To render up his stewardship to the High 
Omniscient Judge of mortals. Sion's sigh 

Reechoes through her arches, and a moan, 

As of departed spirits hither borne 
From their deep caves oblivious makes reply. 
Dark the funereal banners float above 

The Altar of his rest. Meek Overseer, 
And Shepherd of the flock! High Priest of Love ! 

Shall we no more behold thy visage here, 
Beaming with all the graces of the Dove 

From thy Episcopate's exalted sphere ? 



XI. 

On whom shall thy descending mantle rest ? 
Who is there strong enough to bear the weight 
And care of all the churches? Brave the hate 

Of Hydra-headed schism ? On his breast 

Wear manfully the Spirit's shield imprest ? 
And clad in the Heavenly armor never bate 
In holy zeal, though foes assail the gate 

And ancient walls of Sion ? When distressed 

To bear her most in heart — and never quail 

Though ghostly foes against her bend their ire ?- 

O sainted Bishop ! may thy prayers prevail, 
Floating as incense from thy heart of fire — 
Far, far above the bright angelic choir 

To the Eternal One — beyond the veil ! 



YEAR OP GRIEF. 11 

XII. 

O cruel stroke of agonizing fear ! 

E'en as the lightning flash in summer time 

Breaks from a thunder cloud, with crash sublime 
Filling all hearts with dread. So on our ear 
Fell the sad news that thou wert ill, our dear, 

Our much loved brother ! Thou the very prime,* 

And crown of our rejoicing ! Hark ! the chime 
Of Sabbath bells invite us to draw near 
Our Father's House : "With bleeding hearts we go 
Pouring the bitter torrents of our woe 

Before the Saviour's throne. His pitying eye 
Sheds on the stream of sorrow in its flow 

A ray of Love Divine. All tremblingly 

To Him in every trial let us fly ! 

XIII. 

Thine was a direful struggle — long and fierce, 
Along the darksome valley all must tread 
To reach the silent caverns of the dead : 

Encountered on all sides by foes perverse, 

The Spirit's weapon could alone disperse, 

And with it thou wert armed. As o'er thy head 
Gleamed the keen edge of Prayer — an awful dread 

Filled their black hearts — with deeply muttered curse 

All terror-struck they shrink amid the gloom. 

And now in peaceful beauty for the tomb 

Our youthful brother lies. All dimmed the light, 
Erst from his torch of life serenely bright, 
Enlightened far and near. O fearful blight, 

* John Ball of Hyde Park, St John's Berkley. 



12 YEAR OF GRIEF. 



XIV. 



When the pure-hearted perish in their bloom ! 
O how mysterious is the tragic fate, 

Did Husband, Father, Son and Brother tear 
From our fond arms and left us weeping here ! 
So many households rendered desolate : 
May we thy shining virtues imitate ! 

E'en when Death's gloomy torrent, wild and drear, 
Poured its harsh music on thy list'ning ear, 
Thou didst thyself from terrors extricate, 
And with a fearless spirit braved its tide, 
And sought the Rock of Ages, there to bide 
Safe in the sheltering clefts upon its side : 
O may we to the same sure refuge fly, 
Ere the thick film is settling on the eye ; 
Ere the cold breast has heaved its farewell sigh. 

xv. 

Ah ! yes ! the fearful agony is o'er — 

And cold in death our Brother's body lies, 

His soul departed to its native skies, 
For he was pure in heart — and we are sure 
Such shall on Heavenly Heights their God adore, 

And on his glory look with blissful eyes. 

O after his may our dull souls arise, 
Mounting on hopeful pinions to the shore 
"Where sin and sorrow cease. E'en as at sea 

The stormy petrel rests his weary wing 
Upon the heaving billow, so may we 
Just pause upon the Ocean-swell of Life 
To gather courage, for the onward strife 

Shall bring us to the mansion of our King. 



YEAR OF GRIEF. 13 

XVI. 

O who may paint the anguish of the hour 
That summoned us to meet around thy bier, 
And with heart-rending sob or silent tear 
Consign thee to the grave — Death's fearful bower 
Hid from the cheering sun and silent shower. 
Like to the faithful Mary, lone and drear 
Sat thy fond mother in the chapel — where 
The burial rite resounded : Sad the dower 
By Heaven appointed to her stricken heart. 
There brothers, sisters, kindred bore their part 
In the sad scene of anguish. Friends around 
In tearful silence view the grief profound — 
With the keen sorrow deeply sympathize 
And give the balmy tribute of their sighs. 

XVII. 

" "What means that fearful, wild, half-savage cry 

Filling the heart with horror and affright, 

Making day hideous as blackest night, 
When boding owls spread their dark wings and fly 
From the old tombs and hoary oak-trees nigh ?" 

Let those discordant sounds your souls excite 

To gentlest pity — thus th' untutored spright 
Of Afric's sons their grief would testify 
For a loved master's loss. Just such the strain 

Eesounded through Machpelah's ancient cave 
And died away in Hebron's flowery glade, 

When the old Patriarch to his rocky grave 
Was borne in sad procession by his train 

Of faithful servants, and by Sarah laid ! 



14 YEAR OF GRIEF. 

XVIII. 

Like some calm Eeservoir within a wood, 

'Hound which the gemmed leaves of Autumn sigh, 
Beflecting Heaven within its azure eye 

Bests thy sweet Eelict in her widowhood. 

Hid from the world in sylvan solitude, 
She lists the spirit-voices as they cry 
Their solemn warnings to the wintry sky ; 

Fit music for her sadly pensive mood. 

Close to the margent of that placid lake, 
A little flower-bud from its grassy bed 

Peeps forth with eye of Love. From out the brake 
The bird of Peace is singing. " Bow thy head, 
Pale mourner ! where the Saviour's board is spread ; 

All thy heart-sorrows to His keeping take." 



XIX. 

Mother beloved ! upon whose matron brow 
Serenely beautiful ! Bich Autumn bound 
A garland of rare foliage — slowly wound 
By Time's mysterious fingers. Altered now 
And withered is its brightness. As the bough 
Of some fair evergreen is sadly found 
Torn by a blast and strown upon the ground, 
Eeft of its once high honors : Even so 
This storm of grief has dealt with the rich crown, 
It lies in dust and ashes — in its place 
A hoar and blighted circle now we trace, 
For Winter stern has marked thee as his own : 
Nor here again shall God renew thy bloom — 
But Spring immortal reigns beyond the tomb ! 



YEAR OF GRIEF. 15 

XX. 

And thy beloved hath reached that happy shore ; 

Thy beautiful, thy pure and spotless boy — 

Bright as the angels now his crown of joy ! 
And though thine eye shall never greet him more 
On this terrene. Yet let thy soul adore 

The Grod of Judgment — and thy tongue employ 

To sing His praise who wrought this dread annoy : 
He hath escaped the tempest's awful roar — 
Lo ! 'mid the sacred host with footsteps free 

He walketh by the crystal river clear, 
And plucks the healing leaflets from the tree 

Yielding in monthly cycles fruitage fair, 
The Tree of Life ! O bow in awe the knee, 

For the pure throne of God's own Lamb is there ! 



XXI. 

Yet still a golden chain doth bind thee here — 

One end is fastened to th' Eternal Throne, 

The other linked unto the kindly zone 
Encircling thy fond heart — Thy offspring dear — 
By it thy soul, as on a golden stair, 

Ascends from Earth to Heaven. And thou must own, 
Eelict beloved ! not every comfort flown, 
Bright rainbow tints are glowing in each tear — 
Thy child — lone sporting on life's flowery lea 

To cull those flowers aright — 'tis thine to teach ; 
A fragile shell tossed on a wintry sea — 

'Tis thine to see he safely make the beach, 
And with his brother gems forever be 

Set in a star of threefold brilliancy ! 



16 YEAR OP GRIEF. 

XXII. 

Once more 'mid thy ancestral honors set, 
Brother beloved ! Why do our fond eyes trace 
The lines of anguish furrowed on thy face ? 
Whilst ever and anon thy cheeks are wet 
With sorrow's silent tear-drop ? O not yet 
May thy true heart expel the noble grace 
Of thy loved brother's form. When for the chase 
Thou windst thy bugle call, canst thou forget 
How, like the morning star, serenely clear, 

His smiling visage at the casement beamed 
Eadiant with hopeful pleasure ! Never here 

May thy fond glance rest on him. Vainly dreamed 
Thy soul of joys fraternal — dry and sere 
Their withered blossoms strew thy pathway drear. 

XXIII. 

Lone brother ! sad indeed would be thy fate 
But for a loving spirit in thine ear, 
Whispering in silvery accents, soft and clear 

As the wind-notes of even, " Thy loved mate 

Seek not in slumber's chamber desolate, 
Where their moss banners on the angry air 
The hoary oak-boughs wave — He is not there — 

His bright celestial home by Death's dark gate 

His soul hath entered. In its Courts of Light 
He walketh with the beatific train 
Of God's elect. Their robes of spotless white, 

Washed in the precious blood of Jesus slain, 
Glow with seraphic radiance. Stars of night 

Less brightly beam upon yon ebon plain." 



YEAR OP GRIEF. 17 

XXIV. 

Meek, unobtrusive grief — seeking to hide 

The shaft beneath the wing. The starting tear 
Lone witness to the anguish resting there. 

Floating along on Duty's peaceful tide, 

Sweet sorrowing sister ! When thy looks abide 
On yonder cottage, snugly nestled where 
The crystal waters lave the fenny mere, 

And golden shafts repose at even-tide — 

Is not the light of Eecollection thrown 
Full on another scene ? A quiet nest, 

Where a fond mother-bird, her partner flown, 
Warms her dear fledgling at her widowed breast, 

Wounded, dispirited, afflicted, lone — 

List'ning in heart, sweet Mercy's undertone. 



XXV. 

Another and another — thus I tell 
My rosary of sorrow ; every bead 
A ruby drop from wounded hearts that bleed. 

^Nun-like retired in thy spirit's cell, 

Thou commun'st with the loud, convulsive swell 
Of thy great grief — Sister in heart and deed 
To our beloved kinsman. But thy creed 

Instructs thee where to turn when sorrows dwell 

Deep in the soul. Building thy bower of Hope 

Beneath the cross, the gale of peace shall ope 
Love's roses in thy breast, and glowing there 

Within thy ardent bosom's pious scope 

Shall lend their perfume to the morning air, 
Their rosy petals moist with Memory's tear. 



18 YEAR OF GRIEF. 

XXVI. 

Spirit ! o'er whom this storm of sorrow swept 

With twofold agony ! O I have borne 

On heart of love thy anguish to the throne 
Of the Eternal Father, and there wept, 
Whilst from their sullen caves the night Fiends crept. 

But now the angry blast hath overflown — 

And gentle showers succeed the dismal moan 
Glowing with Hope's bright iris. Duty slept — 
But now awakes and strows Life's rugged road 
With flowers of sweet content. On thy abode 

Broodeth the bird of birds — the Holy Dove ! 

Sheltered beneath his wings of Peace and Love 
Mayest thou forever rest 'till care's sad load 

Change to " the weight of glory" there Above ! 

XXVII. 

Youth, on whose sympathy and loving care 

Two widowed hearts repose ; a weighty charge 
Might well the current of thy life enlarge 

Till it o'erflow in Love. The manly tear 

Down-falling for thy Sister's orphan heir ; 

And thine own orphaned household. — These surcharge 
Thy breast with anxious freight, till like a barge 

Laden from Ind it founders with rich ware. 

Wouldst thou thy precious cargo safely moor ? 
Let thy keen glance the cresset beacon mark 
Far gleaming on th' horizon border dark, 
Bright as a star — then fading to a spark ; 

And as its fitful fires thus allure 

Let the Great Chart thy onward course assure ! 



YEAR OF GRIEF. 19 



XXVIII. 



Peace to thy heart, dear Mother — peace to thee ! 

Methinks I see thee in thy cottage home 
Plying thy task with busy industry 

From morn to night. Perchance a mighty tome 

Engrosses thy attention. Tales have come 
Far down the track of ages. Or, I see 
Thy spirit revelling 'neath antique tree 

Of some forgotten name ! Thy humble dome 
Thou wouldst not now exchange for palace grand, 

So happy in the dim, mysterious chase 
Of ghostly forms along the shadowy -land. 

Thanks to the Mighty Friend, who thus doth brace 
Thy every nerve for action ; for a band 

Of leagued sorrows track thy lonely pace. 



XXIX. 

Cord of anxiety ! of triple woof 

Stretching along my life — all dun of hue 
Saving that here and there a thread of blue, 
Or Love's fine gold peeps out. Soul-cheering proof 
That underneath the clear, cerulean roof 

Sheltering our home we cannot ever rue. 
Love's buds are always sprinkled with soft dew 
Falling from Heaven ! though some time calm reproof 
Looks with paternal eye from out a cloud. 

O heart of mine, weave garlands of bright Hope 
Upon the tightened cord — and pierce the shroud 

With the keen eye of Faith. Then God shall ope 
For thee a door of gladness, whence the loud 

Hosannah shall ring out from Heaven's high cope. 



20 YEAR OF GRIEF. 

XXX. 

Sisters, in whose domestic arbors grow 

The flowers that deck my lone, sequestered cell, 
O where shall I find words of power to tell 

The deep, mysterious, silent, endless flow 

Of love, from cave where gems immortal glow 
For you and yours — that dark unfathomed well 
My throbbing heart ! And now with grateful swell 

My soul I lift that this sad year of woe 

Left you unscathed. No storm of sorrow flung 
Its darksome veil above your pleasant bowers, 

Save that the shadow of the banner hung 
By Death's dark hand upon our triple towers 

Eclipsed their light. And sighs of anguish rung 
Your hearts responsive to the grief of ours ! 



XXXI. 

Ah ! some upon whose cheek the sorrowing tear 
For us was scarcely dry, are called to weep 
O'er their own anguish, cruel, sore and deep ; 

A first-born son cut down in manhood's year — 

Sad trial for paternal hearts to bear ! — 

But O, more sad — more dreadful is the sweep 
Of agony across that soul, must keep, 

All lonely now her watch and vigil drear! 

O cousin mine ! stern was thy fate exiled 

From home and kindred ties. But one was found, 

One faithful heart to cheer the rugged wild: 
She with a wreath of Love thy spirit bound 

To simple joys domestic. When she smiled 

Hope, in thy cottage, danced her cheerful round. 



YEAR OF GRIEF. 21 

XXXII. 

Once more from solemn tower the sonorous bell * 
Sends out its knell funereal. At the sound 
Bleedeth afresh the rude and ghastly wound 

Deep in our Mother's side. Yea, that sad knell 

Speaks of another spirit gone to dwell 

On the mysterious shore. A pastor found 
Faithful in word and deed hath passed the bound 

Dividing Earth and Heaven. Freed from its shell 

His spirit soared exulting to the sky. 

O blessed Saviour! wherefore lay thy hand 

So rudely on thy Bride ? Wouldst verify 
Her holy faith unto a reckless band 
Of unbelievers in this godless land — 

Showing Eeligion's perfect purity ? 

XXXIII. 

" O lay me not within the chancel bound : f 

Nor in the echoing aisles where footsteps ply ; 

But lay me 'neath the calm, ethereal eye 
Of th' o'er-arching firmament. The mound 
Heap, where the clouds of Heaven may moist the ground 

With silvery tear-drops ; there let violets shy 

Give out their perfume to the passer by, 
Wafting his soul to God's celestial Bound ! 
Place not thy Pastor in metallic shrine, 

But in a simple case may soon decay, 
That so this perishable form of mine 

May mingle ' dust to dust ' some early day, 
Waiting the summons of the voice Divine — 

Then spring to life and hail th' eternal Eay ! " 

* Rev. Mr. Young, Rector of St. Michael's, Charleston, 
■j" Mr. Young's dying request. 



22 YEAR OF GRIEF. 

XXXIV. 

And thou, J within whose bosom now abode 
A two-edged sword of anguish, help to lay 
Thy Brother in the cold sepulchral clay 
E'en as he wished. And now Life's checkered road 
To thee seems doubly rugged — and the load 
Of care weighs heavily, no cheering ray, 
From eye of Guide or Friend, to light thy way. 
The rankling wound would thy sad heart corrode, 
But that as one by one thy loved ones die 
I see thee to the cross uplift thine eye, 
And bosom heaving with deep agony j 
Thence blood of very G-od for sinners shed, 
Drops as the dew upon thy drooping head, 
Healing the wounds which else had festering spread. 

XXXV. 

One more funereal garland have I wound 

Of gloomy cypress ; 'tis for yonder grave 
Where rest the mortal members of a slave || 
Honored, beloved, respected : Faithful found, 
Walking with steady step his daily round 
Doing his Master's service. He who gave 
Hath called him home across the dismal wave. 
And his dark, thoughtful brow with glory crowned ! 
O remnant of the faithful ones of y ore — 
Shall we behold thy reverend form no more ? 

We miss thee at the quiet hour of prayer 
When, with the household band we God adore ; 

Miss thee on Sabbath night when all draw near, 
Owner and serf — one Master to implore. 

J Rev. Cranmore Wallace, the Author's Pastor. 
j| Joe Bailey, of "Limerick," St. John's Berkley. 



YEAR OF GRIEF. 23 

XXXVI. 

All through the summer time, along our path 
The fever fiend his burning torch waved high ; 
]S"ow o'er the cloud in-wrapped and wintry sky 

The pestilence is sweeping in his wrath, 

Armed with his gleaming sword. May He who hath 
Sent these stern ills His people's faith to try 
Look from His Throne of Love with pitying eye 

Upon our deep distress. Increase our faith 

In his all-wise appointments ; make us know 
Himself the source of joy — the source of woe; — 
Then even should dark sorrow's cup o'erfiow 

With bitter draught of anguish, we shall feel 

'Tis by a kind Physician sent to heal, 

And drink it whilst in silent awe we kneel ! 



XXXVII. 

Once more upon the mountain, hark ! the sound 
Of old time-honored Christmas. Haste to meet 
And welcome to your bosom's warm retreat. 

Alas ! no longer at the tidings bound 

Our joyous hearts to greet him. Tears have drowned 
The rose of gladness. Once our hearts quick beat 
Respondent to the music of his feet — 

Borne on the soft night wind. But now the wound 

In our bereaved bosoms cannot bear 

His glad, bright eye of mirth. Nay, bring him home, 

He is a kind Physician — and a tear 

Hath for the stricken ones beneath the dome 

Of sorrow sighing. To his healing care 

Commit thy woe — he bringeth Jesus near — 



24 YEAR OF GRIEF. 

XXXVIII. 

The Prince of Peace ! Even as on the morn 

When the glad shepherds hastened o'er the plain 
To welcome in Messiah's tranquil reign, 

So peace, with him, shall on our bosoms dawn. 

O feel we not our hearts resistless drawn 
To meet him — heralding the happy train 
Of Christian virtues. Ever to remain 

Domestic here on earth ? O who would pawn 

For transitory pleasure, Heavenly. Grace ? 
Then let us hasten, and the Holy Child 

Eeceiving from his arms with pure embrace 
Cradle upon our bosoms, reconciled 
To woe and sorrow. Then the radiance mild 

Of Bethlehem's Star shall every grief efface. 



XXXIX. 

Wrapped in a mantle of deep gloom, the year 
Is taking its departure. Slow his tread 
As one who walketh 'mid the silent dead 

In some lone church-yard. The pale sun draws near 

His mansion in the western realms of air ; 
But not on couch of purple, gold and red 
Shall rest to-night his proudly regal head — 

A pilgrim grey he sinks upon yon drear 

And dismal bank of clouds. With him doth fly 
The stern Old Year, bearing his awful scroll 

Before the Throne of Judgment, where the Eye 
Of God shall scan the record. And each soul, 
For weal or woe, within His Book enroll, 

Till the slain Lamb reveal our Destiny! 



ON THE DEATH OF BISHOP GADSDEN. 25 

XL. 

For He alone is worthy found to break 

The sevenfold signet of the Book of Doom, 

On that dread morning when from yawning tomb 

And hoary deep the startled dead shall wake, 

And 'round the pure white Throne of Judgment take 
In silent awe their stand. With hopeful plume, 
Or wing despondent shall each soul resume 

Its dwelling in the flesh. When Thou shalt make 

Thine angels from the just the bad divide 
May we be found rejoicing — we who weep, 
And those who have already fallen asleep 

In Jesus ; and with palms triumphant glide 
In glad procession up the mountain steep 

Into the pearly portals with Thy Bride ! 

Note. — These Sonnets form a continuous poem. 



0n th£ Ihsath at thje Eight &w. Bhtistapher 
Edwards &adsdjen t $♦ B* 



" Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord, from henceforth ; Even 
so saith the Spirit, for they rest from their labors." 



Our blessed dead — we've laid thee down 

To rest in holy ground, 
Within the Temple of thy God ; 

Within the chancel bound : 
Within the chancel's sacred rail, 

Beneath the Altar's shade, 
With heavy hearts and streaming eyes > 

Thy sepulchre we've made. 



26 ON THE DEATH OF BISHOP GADSDEN. 

Where should our holy Bishop rest 

But where he loved to be ? 
Fast by the altar of his God, 

Clothed with humility: 
Not there to fill with robes of state 

The Apostolic chair, 
But prostrate on its sacred steps 

To bow in earnest prayer. 

0, what a flood of care would then 
O'er his meek spirit sweep ! 

What wonder he was fain to fall 
Prone in the dust and weep ! 

Care for the Church — care for her Priests- 
Care for her Deacon band ; 

The clergy — to their solemn task 
Appointed by his hand. 

Care for his well-beloved ones, 

His own peculiar sphere, 
The flock o'er whom the Holy Ghost 

Had made him overseer ; 
The flock for whom for forty years 

He blessed the bread and wine — 
How meet to lay your sainted Priest 

Within yon holy shrine ! 

Care for the little lambs who loved 

To catch his pleasant smile, 
What time the evening shadows fell 

Across each solemn aisle — 
While they, a wreath of living flowers, 

Around the chancel clung, 
Listening the blessed truths that fell 

So gently from his tongue. 



ON THE DEATH OF BISHOP GADSDEN. 27 

Care for the sable race of Ham, 

The bondman and the free, 
He scorned not in their humble homes 

To bend in prayer the knee ! 
Where'er a suffering member wept — 

A contrite sinner sighed ; 
Where'er was sorrow to be cured, 

A tear-drop to be dried ; 

There, like his Master, he was found 

Meek, sympathizing, kind ; 
Eeady the hungry poor to feed, 

The broken spirit bind : 
O surely on the Day of Doom 

That Master's voice shall cry, 
" Enter, thou blessed of the Lord, 

The portals of the sky." 

But ye for whom his yearning soul 

Has agonized in prayer, 
Well may ye sigh your sorrows forth, 

Or drop the mournful tear ; 
And as ye bend your stricken forms 

Repentant 'neath the rod, 
Bear up upon your troubled hearts, 

His household unto God. 

O not in selfish, lonely grief 

Let sorrow's tide o'erflow, 
Bear up the church upon your hearts — 

Full is her cup of woe ! 
Bear her upon your heart of hearts 

Before the Mercy Seat ; 
Bear her in love before her God, 

" 'Tis bounden, right and meet." 



28 A VOICE OF WAILING. 

But oh ! not for our sainted one 

Be sigh or tear-drop given, 
He walks among the blessed dead, 

A ransomed heir of Heaven ; 
His ear has heard — his eye has seen — 

His heart now comprehends, 
A portion of the joy prepared 

For Jesus' loving friends. 

Then leave him to his deep repose 

Beneath the altar's shade, 
Assured his soul as calmly rests 

In Eden's blissful glade ; 
There, with th' innumerable host 

Of God's elect, erewhile 
He waits th' Archangel's thrilling trump. 

Cheered by his Saviour's smile. 
July, 1852. 



$. tjoictf af Wailing, 



I was not here when thou wert laid to rest, 

Within this silent chamber ; was not here 

When loving hands let thee so gently down 

Within the bosom of God's holy earth 

To sleep until the Judgment ; and great drops 

Fell fast from many eyes, unused to tears. 

Not here when the vast throng of human souls, 

That filled this sacred edifice, sent up, 

As with one voice, a cry of wail to Heaven. 

Alas ! not here, the one who loved thee best, 



A VOICE OF WAILING. 29 

Save her, who was to thee as thine own soul, 
To mingle my deep grief with all who mourned ; 
The rich, the great, the needy, the unknown, 
The doubly-orphaned children of The Home! 
With contrite Magdalenes — and men once seen 
In lowest haunts of vice — till led by thee 
To wash them clean in blood of Jesus slain. 

Who now, when pestilence walks forth at noon 

Beneath the summer's sun ; or the keen blasts 

Of winter cause the poor of Christ to cry 

To God in anguish, parched by fever heat, 

Or numbed with deadly cold — shall dauntless go 

To minister untiring to their wants, 

All for the Saviour's sake ? The willing mind 

Victorious o'er the body racked with pain, 

And often far too feeble for the work. 

Then worn with toil, but now at perfect rest — 

]S"ot only in the grave where sure decay 

Crumbles his silent form to kindred dust, 

But in the peaceful regions of repose 

Where spirits on the bosom of their G-od 

Await in blissful hope, the perfect day, 

When souls and bodies glorified in Christ, 

Shall shine as stars in firmament of Heaven. 

Witness, ye poor, who loved to hear his step 
Upon the threshold, when pale Death was there 
Busy amongst your dear ones ; and Decay 
Scarce waited for the darkness of the grave ! — 
Ye sick and aged ! who from month to month, 
Eeceived the sacred alms from his kind hand, 
And heard his voice beside your bed in prayer, 
Ye souls reclaimed from vice ! Ye stalwart men. 



30 A VOICE OF WAILING. 

And feeble women whom he lifted up ; 

All witness if my praise exceed his meed, 

Whose footsteps followed, humbly, those of Christ. 

O come up to the rescue, men of God ! 

Fill up this breach in Sion — for a great 

And mighty Captain hath been stricken down ; 

One, who with thoughtful brow and Eagle eye 

Looked from her ramparts, and the deadly foe 

Marked as he set his battle in array 

Against the hosts of Israel ; and the shock 

Met firmly, clad in panoply divine. 

i 

Yea, hasten to the rescue — great the need — 

For piteous is the cry of infant hearts 

Low-issuing from " The Home." Her children weep 

Their more than father, the one heart that yearned 

With deep paternal interest and pure love 

O'er every orphan there ! Whose watchful eye 

Espied each fault, and sternly, yet in love, 

Gave just rebuke — yet ever lent an ear 

Of sympathy to all their little woes; 

Smiled on their simple joy ; and from his tower 

Of mental elevation kindly bent, 

To share with them in all their pleasant things, 

Each of these little ones to his fond heart, 

A type of those the gentle Saviour blessed ! 

O speed ye to the rescue ! Lest the flock, 
That he led forth to pasture, scatter far, 
And hungry wolves devour them in the wild ! 

And O, ye stricken ones ! my brethren dear, 
Who worship with me in that humble fane • 



OUR ANGEL BOY. 31 

Ye, for whose souls he agonized in prayer, 
Prostrate all night before the Mercy Seat, 
Let not our martyred one have spent in vain 
Those bitter sighs and tears, and rendered up 
His life in battle, ere the bugle note 
Of victory was heard ! No — let us up ! 
And carry on the fight — wage deadly war 
Against the bosom sins that caused our Lord 
To visit us, so sorely, with distress. 

Save, Father ! — for without Thee man is vain ; — 
Therefore, with bodies prostrate in the dust, 
We send our cry beyond the farthest star 
Where glow the Seraphim in awful light 
Before the Eternal Throne ! Blest Spirit ! help 
With those deep groans which cannot be exprest, 
Come to our succor, Lord ! Gird on Thy sword, 
And, like a mighty giant nerved for war, 
Stand forth in our behalf! Not to our cry, 
But to the voice of Thy Beloved Son, 
Entreating for his spouse — O lend Thine ear, 
Nor let Him plead those gory wounds in vain ! 
February, 1860. 



0ur Jtng^l Bxig, 



Why is it that I cannot sing 

Of thee, our precious Angel boy ? 

Is it because my heart-strings cling 
Too closely to our buried joy ? 



32 OUR ANGEL BOY. 

When I the solemn chords would sweep, 
And send a requiem o'er thy grave ; 

I cannot choose but stop and weep, 
So rapidly flows sorrow's wave. 

Would I a fragrant wreath entwine 
To place upon thy cherished tomb, 

My trembling hands will not combine 
The myrtle and the rose's bloom. 

And vividly before my sight 

Sad visions of thy sufferings rise — 

Thy spirit striving to take flight ; 
Thy mournfully beseeching eyes I 

Those lovely orbs of beaming light, 
With pure celestial beauty fraught, 

From face to face in rapid flight 
For sympathizing glances sought. 

I love and weep — but more than this 
I cannot to my darling give — 

But would I from his home of bliss, 
Bear him again on earth to live? 

Ah ! no — our dovelet safely flew 
Up to the Saviour's tender breast ; 

No more the ills of life to rue 
Nor ever quit that sheltered nest. 

For on our bright redeemed child, 
God had his signet clearly set, 

Grace lay within his bosom mild, 
With dews baptismal duly wet. 



OUR ANGEL BOY. 33 

Thus when the Angel near his bed 

Stood with his gleaming blade in hand, 

His soul knew nor affright, nor dread, 
But smiled upon the glittering brand. 

Yes smiles seraphic o'er his face 
In bright succession quickly flew, 

As glancing sunbeams when they chase 
The shadows o'er a grassy view ! 

Within his mother's loving breast 
These treasured tokens safely lie ; 

She thinks how calm he sank to rest, 
And lifts to Heaven a thankful eye. 

She thinks how bright the sun's ray gleamed, 
What time the casement open flew — 

What was it to the light that beamed 
That moment on his raptured view ! 

And is he not her guardian sprite, 
Endowed with cherub virtues now, 

To shield her soul in sorrow's night, 

And soothe her spirits when they bow ? 

And often from her couch she'll rise 
To scan the deep blue arch above, 

And fancy that his starry eyes 
Beam on her in undying love. 

And I too, as my raptured sight 

Dwells on the sunset clouds of even, 

Will fancy that his robes of light 

Gleam through that vista-view of Heaven. 
January, 1851. 



34 FLOWER STROWING. 



We went to gather violets 

To strew our darling's bier, 
But ere we reached their fragrant homes 

The Snow-King had been there ; — 
Shaking his plumage as he past, 
Borne by the rude boreal blast — 
He on the blue-eyed favorites cast 

His icy feathers drear! 

Each floweret perished as the barb 

Entered its tender breast ; 
E'en thus our cherished infant sank 

To his eternal rest ; 
Lent us a little while to prove 
How precious to the heart the love 
Of holy Innocence; our Dove 

Soared to its tranquil nest. 

With saddened hearts we turned away, 

And eyes suffused with tears, 
To seek the odor-breathing plant 

In more congenial spheres. 
Kind sympathy the loss supplied 
For which our loving bosoms sighed, 
Her flowerets had not drooped and died, 
Pierced by the Snow-King's spears. 

"Sweets to the Sweet " — thy placid form 

Our darling! on its bier 
In simple robe of purest white 

Eeposed — a cherub fair! 



FLOWER STROWING. 35 

We strewed it with the purple bloom 
Of dewy violets, for the tomb, 
Piercing, with eye of Faith, its gloom 
To see thee floating near, 

The everlasting fount of Light, 

Dipping thy golden wing 
Within its brightly gushing tide, 

Then soaring on to sing 
Before the Throne of God the strain 
Oft chanted by the ransomed train, 
Waiting in blissful hope the reign 

Of Jesus, Glorious King ! 

"Sweets to the Sweet" — thy grandam dear 

First strewed thy snowy shroud, 
With trembling hands and streaming eyes, 

And spirit meekly bowed ; 
Next she who took thee to her breast, 
When her own darling soared to rest 
Within the mansions of the Blest 

Above yon radiant cloud! 

Thy aunt, thy youthful aunt. the third, 

Herself a violet fair — 
Watered with sorrow's dew the buds 

She scattered o'er thy bier, 
Then in thy hands and on thy breast 
I placed my tokens sweet of rest, 
And on thy brow a kiss imprest, 

And stroked thy silken hair ! 

Lo ! as we viewed with prayerful glance 

Thy form serene in rest, 
The sacred cross is seen inwrought 

Upon thy snowy vest ! 



36 A REQUIEM. 

Who traced that emblem with the flowers ? 
Perchance an Angel-hand — or ours 
Were guided by mysterious powers 
To weave that symbol blest ! 

"Sweets to the Sweet" — thy memory, Love, 

Soft as the breath of flowers, 
Shall float along our devious ways 

Till Time has told our hours ; 
Then, as we sink in Death's embrace, 
Thy beatific form we'll trace, 
Speeding, on wing of light, through space, 

To welcome to calm bowers ! 



$. Etfquism, 



Hark! the wintry winds are sighing, 

Withered leaves our pathway spread ; 
Strawed by God's own hand in token 

Of our kindred with the dead : 
Yea, the solemn winds are sighing, 

And the rustling leaves reply, 
"Mortal thou art speeding onward — 

Man thy portion is to die!" 

Nor is Nature solely chanting 

To our hearts this solemn truth ; 
Hear its dirge-like music floating 

O'er the faded bowers of youth ; 
List its mournful echoes rising 

From our brother's quiet grave, 
There he lies in tranquil slumber, 

Where the hoar oak branches wave. 



A REQUIEM. 37 

Early wert thou taken, Brother, 

From our hearts and homes away, 
Ere thy rosy youth had brightened 

Into manhood's golden day ; 
Whilst the flower of Love was blowing 

In thy pure and guileless breast ; 
Whilst the bird of Hope was building 

'Neath thy eave its peaceful nest. 

Shall thy smile no more, my Brother, 

Intellectual, warm and bright — 
Greet us with its magic sweetness, 

Cheer us with its witching light ? 
Never shall thy fond eye-glances 

More by loving friends be seen ? 
Nor thy proud, majestic forehead, 

Charm us with its grace serene ? 

Thou wert beautiful, my Brother, 

Beautiful in classic grace, 
And the innate virtues glowing 

On thy frank ingenuous face ; 
Yet a nobler gift was given — 

Gift more precious, more divine, 
In thy chaste and pious bosom 

Found the Pearl of Price a shrine ! 

Pure as water-lily resting 

On the Lake's translucid tide, 
On the calm baptismal waters 

Did thy ransomed soul abide ; 
In thy childhood unpolluted — 

In thy dawning manhood free 
From the stormy winds of passion, 

Booming o'er Life's troubled sea ! 



38 A REQUIEM. 

Wintry winds, lo ! ye have borne me 

Where our loved-one mouldering lies ; 
Leave me not 'mid charnel horrors — 

Waft, O waft me to the skies ! 
Thither on exulting pinions 

Has our Brother's spirit sped ; 
Leave me not in grief despondent 

'Mid the cerements of the dead. 

He has met his father's spirit; 

Has embraced his cherubs bright ; 
Has beheld the glorious vision 

Of the Lamb enthroned in Light ! 
Would we then to earth recall him, 

Bind him to its cares again ? 
Better far to dwell with Jesus 

In His pure and blissful reign ! 

What though earth held every blessing 

That could tempt the youthful heart, 
He was ready at the summons 

Of the Father to depart ; 
Leaving to his God his treasures, 

Widowed mother — partner dear — 
Child — his dawning star of promise — 

Passed his spirit forth in prayer. 

O like him may we be ready 

Ere the awful hour of doom, 
When our souls must pass to judgment, 

And our bodies to the tomb ; 
Then the falling leaves of autumn — 

Then the flowers that faded lie 
On our path, no more shall sadden 

When they whisper we must die. 
December, 1852. 



HOW BEAUTIFUL IS DEATH. 39 

Ijcmr Beautiful is Iteath* 



How beautiful is death ! how passing fair 
Thou restedst Addie,* on thy snowy bier ; 

O how serenely calm, 
Sweet virgin martyr ! — the, victorious palm, 

And the triumphal psalm, 
Already seem to wave and float around 

Charming our grief profound ; 
Filling our souls with a mysterious thrill, 
Even in that dark hour, to bow us to God's will. 

Thy hands were clasped as if in earnest prayer, 
As I have often seen them clasped here : 
The pale Japonica upon thy breast 
Was not more pure than its still couch of rest ; 

Never in Life's wild hour 

Had evil passions power 
To enter that abode of Love divine, 

Fair virtue's sacred shrine ; 

And as the purple shower, 

Affection's fragrant dower, 
Of violets, by hand of Friendship shed 

Within thy coffin bed, 
With pleasant odor filled the air and room, 

So, from thy silent tomb, 
Thy many virtues shall uprise to calm 
The bosom of thy friends, with memory's healing balm. 

* Adeline Grilmore of Manlius, Western New York, who died at Hyde 
Park, St. John's Berkley, January 1st, 1855, from the effects of Yellow 
Fever. 



40 HOW BEAUTIFUL IS DEATH. 

O that the mantle of thy soul could rest 

On my perturbed breast ! 
Its chaste and holy folds enwrap me quite, 

Calming my wayward spright ; 

That even in this hour 

Throbs with wild passion's power, 
So that I long to rest my weary head 

Within its clay-cold bed : — 
The moonbeams sleep upon thy quiet grave. 
The night-winds sigh above the spot, and wave 

The live-oak's mossy arms ; 

To save thee from alarms 
Angels encamp around the sacred bowers 

Where, as the seed of flowers. 
Each sleeper in his silent cell reposes : 

O ! is it sin in me, 

To wish that I could be 
Like thee escaped from earthly taint and sorrow, 

Waiting the great To-morrow, 
Within the grave where Life's sad drama closes! 

Sister of my affection ! passed before 

Unto the shadowy shore ; 
Nay, passed all shadows — and in glory bright 
Walking in snowy robe the fields of light ; 

If in thy starry sphere 
The disembodied spirit draweth near 

Ever to God in prayer; 
Bend thy serene and lily-cinctured brow 

Before the God-head now, 
And let thy saintly prayer for me ascend, 
Still struggling in this world, my sister and my friend. 



DIRGE. 41 



Wtixgz* 



Thou hast gone before us 

To the silent shore, 
Where the stream of sorrow 
Welleth never more : 
Angel-hands have led thee to repose ; 
Sweet the crystal river by thee flows. 

Like a chiselled image 
On an antique tomb 
Lies thy sleeping figure 
In the vesper gloom ; 
Chapel-like the little chamber seems, 
Lit by solemn moonlight's holy beams. 

Angels shall around thee 

Through the silent night, 
Shed ambrosial dew drops 
From their wings of light ; 
Cherubim with blades of lambent fire, 
Demons chase to their abodes of ire. 

Scatter purple dew-bells 

O'er her snowy bier ; 
Kiss once more the forehead ; 
Smoothe the wavy hair . 
Dark the lashes of her sealed eyes, 
Shade the cheeks where Death's pale beauty lies ! 

When the rose-tint flushes 
On the brow of morn, 



42 DIRGE. 

They will tear thee, sister, 
From our hearts forlorn ; 
Stranger hands will place thee in thy grave, 
Where the old oak branches sadly wave. 

Let us gaze in sorrow 

Once more on thee now, 
How serenely placid 

Beams thy saintly brow ! 
Clasped thy hands as if in earnest prayer ; 
Answer spirit! art thou hovering near? 

Hark J a voice seraphic 

Whispers from the sky, 
"Sister, Friends, Companions, 
Wipe each tear-dimmed eye, 
Lilies gleam not half so pure and fair, 
As my blood-washed spirit shineth here." 

11 Turn your eyes of sorrow 

From my clay-cold sod, 
In rapt vision follow 
To the mount of God ; 
Angel-friends my spirit now prepare, 
Make it meet for yon refulgent sphere." 

" I have heard the cherubs 

Singing round the Throne ; 
Caught celestial glimpses 
Of the Eternal One ; 
Sights seraphical around me rise ! — 
Paradise is open to mine eyes !" 



ON THE DEATH OP THE REV. J. WARD SIMMONS. 43 

©n tlxe Iteath of th^ Iteu* £♦ Ward Simmons. 



Clothe him in the sacred garment 

By him ever loved the best, 
Let the solemn priestly raiment 

His beloved form invest ; 
Tenderly let gentle fingers 

Place each snowy fold with care, 
As he resteth from his labors 

On his tear-besprinkled bier. 

Bury him with solemn music, 

Let the deep-toned organ swell, 
And the voices of the choir 

On the hymn and anthem dwell ; 
Let the words from Heaven uttered, 

Thrill through every nerve and heart — 
For he loved his Saviour ever 

To adore with tuneful art. 

Tenderly ye Priestly Brothers 

Bear him to his rest profound, 
Where the Temple's holy shadow 

Yeils the consecrated ground. 
Blood-bought ! with a mighty spirit 

Thou didst wrestle through the night, 
But the Angel hailed thee victor 

With the dawn's returning light ! 

Happy in the early Autumn, 
With the falling leaves to die, 

Ere the chilling blasts of Winter 
Sweep across the darkened sky ! 



44 SEA-CHIMES. 

Blessed form ! within the quiet 
Of the peaceful grave to rest ! 

Blessed spirit ! with the ransomed 
Gathered to the Saviour's breast ! 

See, yon setting sun is shedding 

Golden honors o'er him now, 
Token of the crown immortal 

Soon to sparkle on his brow ! 
Mourners leave him to his slumber, 

Bid your heart-felt sorrow cease ; 
List ! his last triumphant whisper, 

" All is peace — Eternal peace." 
October, 1854. 



S^a-^himes, 



IN MEMORY OF ELIZABETH PORCHER WHITE. 



WRITTEN AFTER READING THE OBITUARY IS THE MERCURY OP THE 7tH OF 
SEPTEMBER, 1861. 



" The innocent child leaves no dark void of sorrow. The 6ea change 
she has undergone spares all other change. She lives on, and can never 
grow older. She is forever young in the hearts of her parents." 



" She has suffered a sea-change, 
Into something rich and strange ;" 
And her innocent young head 
Bests upon its rocky bed, 
And its Ocean-laved pillow, 
Lulled by chimings of the billow, 



SEA-CHIMES. 45 

Just as calmly as if Sleep — 

Near her mother's heart — did steep 

Her fair lids with poppy-dew ! — 

One can almost fancy too 

That her hands are clasped in prayer, 

And her coral lips doth wear 

A smile, as if a parent's kiss 

Her young heart had bathed in bliss. 

Ah ! say not the sun-beams shock thee — 
And the glancing billows mock thee, 
As they dance along the strand 
Like merry children hand in hand. 
On the eye of Sense they rain 
Shafts of Light, replete with pain ; 
To the eye of Faith they beam 
Outward symbols of the stream, 
Now around thy darling playing 
In the Land where light is raying 
Ever from the Lamb once slain, 
Thee and thine to save from pain. 

Spirits pure, beneath the billow, 

Watch around her shell-wreathed pillow, 

Just as surely as they guard, 

By the moss-grown church, the yard 

Where her kindred sleep in dust 

Till the graves give up their trust. 

Ah ! who knows, but that her rest, 
Sweetly on her Uncle's breast — * 
Now she taketh — while his arms, 
As to shield her from alarms, 

*Lost in the attempt to save his niece. 



46 ON THE DEATH OF MRS. E. C. GRAY. 

Fold her to his loving heart : 
Never more from thence to start, 
At the booming of the sea, 
Till the angel sets her free ! 

This may be a pleasing dream 
Caused by moonbeams as they stream 
Spirit-like across the sea : — 
Stars tell not the mystery — 
Though their keen eyes seem to glow 
With a light supernal — know, 
Eye of Faith alone can read 
The mystery of the Holy Creed, 
Heart of Faith alone can swell 
At the thought that " All is Well "— 
That the child is now at rest 
On her Saviour's loving breast — 
And that brave soul beams a star 
Where no billows dash and jar ! 



0n the Heath of Mrs, £. B. &ray, 



MAY, 1863. 



Mysterious is thine awful presence Death ! — 
We sat in thoughtful silence in the room 
We knew he soon must enter, to bear thence 
The immortal from the mortal ; to take back 
To its Eternal Source the breath of Life 
Then quivering in the bosom of the one 
We watched with loving eyes : Her dearest near, 
And a friend loved from childhood's happy morn. 



ON THE DEATH OF MRS. E. C. GRAY. 47 

Affection's gaze scarce turned from her calm face; 

But soul-intent and riveted by Love 

Upon the drooping and dark-fringed lids 

Veiling her once bright orbs, thought sure to catch 

The last spark thence emitted. But not so — 

Unheard — invisible — on stealthy wing 

Death entered and was gone. 

Then came the fresh, 
The terrible outburst of anguish, known 
Only to those who have endured its sting. — 
Here drop the veil, and let the lone heart pour, 
In solitude and silence, prayer to God. 

What mourn we in thy loss ! — A precious gem 
Torn from our breast — a chime of sweet bells hushed — 
Gloom — where so late was sunshine — and a void 
In loving hearts never to be refilled ! 

True wife — kind friend — and daughter whose soft care 
Fell on her widowed mother's sorrowing soul 
Like dew-drops on the flowers : Four long years 
Her dearest comfort, since that other went 
To dwell on high with Jesus. Now two stars 
The angels number where so late was one ! 

Amid the white-robed band thy Whitsuntide 
Thou keepest in the Heavens ; where the dew 
Of the Eternal Spirit falls more free 
Upon thy ransomed and reposing soul, 
Enriching and expanding — making meet 
For the celestial body yet to spring 
From the despoiled grave — and to its breast 
Catch it in perfect union — Deathless — Pure — 
E'en as the Lamb's with His pearl-vested Bride ! 



48 LITTLE MAGGIE. 

&ittte Maggie* 



She went to dwell beside the sea, 
Where ocean's billows, wild and free 

Come bounding to the shore ; 
The loveliest of the infant band 
That gathered shells along the strand, 

And now she is no more ! 

No longer by the sounding sea, 
With golden tresses waving free, 

Upon the summer air, 
May we her tiny foot-prints trace, 
Or watch, with loving eyes, the grace 

Of form and motion rare. 

No longer on her mother's breast, 
But in the still, deep grave her rest 

She taketh with the host 
Of loved and cherished ones, who lie 
So calmly 'neath the holy eye 

Of angels at their post — 

Keen-watching till the germ of life, 
Within the mouldering dust, be rife 

For the immortal bloom — 
Then with a beauty, e'en more rare 
Than that which veiled her spirit here, 

Exulting from the tomb, 

Springs forth her ransomed soul to greet — 
Beneath the Great White Throne they meet 



THE MOUNTAIN ROSE. 49 

Ne'er to be parted more ! 
And lo ! a sweeter voice than e'er 
In happy childhood soothed her ear 

Floats from the heavenly shore — 

" Angel bear up the precious flower, 
And place her in her Saviour's bower, 

To bloom beneath His eye ; 
No longer needful of thy care — 
But like thee glorious in her sphere ; 

And nevermore to die !" 



Th£ Mountain Jtoss, 



IN MEMORY OF THE YOTJNG AND LOVELY MARGARET A. SHOOLBRED. 



The last rosebud has faded 

And fallen from the breast, 
Where late it lay a thing of life 

Caressing and caressed ! 
Last of the rosy sisters 

That blessed a mother's heart, 
'Twas sad to see them, one by one, 

Droop, wither and depart ; 
To see them shed their beauty 

And drop upon the sod — 
Alas ! that only Death can lead 
' To Light— to Life— to God! 

How often have we wandered 
By lakelet — through the wood — 

And I have ever thought thee bright, 
And beautiful and good ; 
5 



50 THE MOUNTAIN ROSE. 

" The Mountain Eose," I called thee, 

And hoped thy mountain breeze 
Would give thee strength and heart and nerve 

To wrestle with disease ; 
Would with its breath enkindle 

The spark of Life — and set 
No fraudful light upon thy cheek ; 

Nor in those eyes of jet. 

Alas ! for human hoping — 

The light illumined there, 
Pure as the star-fires beaming 

From yon celestial sphere, 
Shone but to make the darkness 

More dismal when 'twas gone — 
Alas ! that through the dreary night 

One lone heart must beat on ! 
Must beat forlorn and shrinking, 

Low murmuring in despair — 
Thou, purer than the holy stars I 

O Comforter ! draw near. 

Whisper in notes far sweeter 

Than voice of plaintive dove, 
The great All-Father's chastenings arc 

But tokens of His love ; 
Show how His yearning bosom 

In Earth's dark hour of need, 
Sent forth the One Begotten 

To suffer and to bleed ; 
Show to Faith's eye her darlings, 

Made pure by that rich tide, 
Clust'ring as fadeless blossoms now 

On bosom of The Bride ! 



GOOD NIGHT. 51 



Goad might 



Good night, beloved ones ! It is time for me 
To launch my bark upon th' unfathomed sea 
That laves the headland of Eternity, 

Good night ! 

My skiff heaves with the billow — and the air 
Seems full of strange, sad whispers. Do I hear 
The spirit voices of the unknown sphere ? 

Good night ! 

Methinks a storm is brooding in the sky — 
The stars have bid good night — the moon is shy 
To show her face in Heaven — come, draw ye nigh, 

Good night ! 

Draw nigh — nor while I linger let me miss 
The warm, soft pressure of each loving kiss — 
They take me back to days of childish bliss, 

Good night ! 

To days when by my Mother's knee I prayed ; 
Or with ye, sisters, on the white sand strayed — 
This is another sea — I'm half afraid — 

Good night ! 

Good night ! Good night ! O it is hard to go — 
But all those airy voices call me so — 
I must depart — Beloved ! That voice I know, 

Good night. 



52 THE D0t?BLE HARVEST. 

It is my Mother's ! and it chides delay. 
And bids me trust in One has led the way 
Over Death's gloomy tide — I fain obey. 

Good night. 

Good night I The gloom is almost gone — a ray 
Strikes on yon headland from approaching day- 
Sweet sisters one last kiss — and now away 

To Light ! 



Ths ®oubl£ Ijaru^st. 



'Tis the glorious time of harvest — 

And the sun is shining clear, 
Shooting rays of golden beauty 

Through the azure fields of air ; 
Downward darts the heavenly radiance 

Till the reapers .sickles gleam 
Like a. fiery flash of glory 

In the bright, refulgent beam ! 

Lo ! on bronzed and stalwart shoulders, 

Homeward now the sheaves are borne, 
And the harvest chant is ringing 

Upward to the Father's throne I 
Hark ! is that its joyous echo 

Striking sweetly on our ear ? 
God ! it is the cry of anguish, 

Bitter anguish and despair! 

For the reaper Death is busy, 

And a double harvest-home 
Through the land is being gathered, — 

Death has entered many a dome ; 



THE DOUBLE HARVEST, 53 

Cutting down with scythe resistlesss 

The beloved on every side — 
Feeble eld — and youth of promise ; 

Cherished babe — and blooming bride. 

u Eachel weepeth for her children " — 

And thy heart my friend is torn, 
Death has been among thy flowers, 

And thy brightest bud has borne 
To his cold and silent bower 

Where it very safely lies 
Hidden — but not lost forever — 

From thy fond maternal eyes ! 

Thou hast given up thy darling 

To his Saviour and his G-od, 
And thy bleeding heart submissive 

Bows beneath His chastening rod ; 
And the holy faith within thee 

Comes to comfort and to calm ; 
And the Spirit on thy bosom 

Sheds his pure and healing balm. 

Ah ! sad father, bowed with anguish, 

Lift from darksome earth thine eye ; 
Thy beloved one has been garnered 

To a peaceful home on high ! 
There his youth shall know no tarnish, 

There his virtues shall expand, 
Till the Eesurrection morning 

Find him 'mid the chosen band. 

Find him, with the ransomed thousands, 
Near the Saviour's Throne of Light, 



54 HELEN. 

Intellectual beauty beaming 

In his eye divinely bright ! 
Then those proud hopes fondly cherished, 

Now crushed-out, bereaved ones ! here, 
Shall revive to glow forever 

In that sinless, deathless sphere. 

There may the once perfect circle — 

Now unlinked — in rapture meet, 
Ne'er again to be dissevered, 

But in harmony complete 
Move along those countless ages, 

Drawing nearer all the while ; 
To the Throne of God Eternal— 

To the brightness of His smile. 
September, 1858. 



Jj e 1 e n ♦ 



DEDICATED TO DR. B. A. RODRIGUES, OF CHARLESTON, S. 0., 
ON THE DEATH OF HIS DAUGHTER. 



I well remember thy sweet flower, 
Thy Helen ! with her glorious dower 
Of graces that enriched thy bower ; 

Making it innocently bright ; 

A moonlit glade of softened light 

From sun of the primeval Height. 

She was a little airy thing, 

When first she did around me fling 

The witchery of which I sing. 



HELEN. 55 



It holds me still in fairy wise, 

The beauty of those dove-like eyes, 

That took me then by sweet surprise. 



So gleesome, yet so free of guile — 
So full of childish grace 
So calculated to beguile 



So full of childish grace — her smile 



The heart of woe — and mine was sad; 
'Twixt swell of hope and fear half mad — 
She came between and made me glad. 

'Twas on a sultry summer's day, 
The river sparkled in its ray — 
The steamer sped upon her way. 

But thou and thine were blithe and gay 

On that remembered summer day ; 

Now Death has crossed thy gladsome way. 

I ever loved thy precious flower, 
The pride, the darling of thy bower, 
And followed her through girlhood's hour 

With glance of tenderness — and knew 
That as to womanhood she grew 
Her beauty took a richer hue j 

Until thy " Wildbrier" did assume 
The Rose's majesty and bloom, 
Her beauty and her rich perfume. 

But when she left the parent bower, 

Another holier home to dower, 

With all her wealth of love — that hour 



56 HELEX. 

I lost her from my sight — yet there 
I never doubted but as clear 
A light she shed as otherwhere. 

Making the wedded homestead bright 

As if an angel shed the light 

So soon to be exchanged for night. 

Too soon her winged sisters bore 
Her spirit to the eternal shore, 
Where peace abideth evermore. 

And if she little ones have left 
To fill the chasm Death has cleft 
In the sad hearts of her bereft ; 

O ! may another Helen spring 

From them, around thy Deck to cling! 

On thy declining life to fling 

The beauty and the joy that erst 
Beamed on thy pathway from the first, 
The child thy loving heart had nurst, 

Hoping her gentle hand should close 
Thine eyelids for their last rej^ose ; 
But the Almighty Father knows 

Best — and He took thy spotless flower 
To bloom within His Heavenly Bower : 
Bow in submission to the Power 

That chastens us in love — and feel 
The freeness of His grace to heal 
When in undoubting faith we kneel 



CHRIST : THE ROCK. 57 

And render of our very best : 

Such anguish wrung the Patriarch's breast 

Upon Moriah's cloudy crest. 

Oh ! may the Patriarch's God, and thine 
Lead thee along the "Way Divine, 
Until thou reach the Inner Shrine 
Where Helen beameth now, beneath the Eye benign ! 
Summerville, March 1st, 1866. 



Christ : Tto Stock 



DEVOTED TO THE MEMORY OF A BELOVED FRIEND AND COUSIN. 



The simple record of her end, what peace it sheds 

around ! — 
Unbind the sandals from your feet, for this is holy ground. 
Tread softly— let no jarring sound nor echo meet her 

ear; 
Breathe softly — utter not a word— the dying is in prayer ! 

"Be quiet, only let me feel that ye are very near, 
Press the warm kiss upon my brow, toy with my wavy 

hair ; 
Pet me, as ye were wont to do — ye know I love it so, 
Friends ! let me feel that ye are here when I am called 

to go. 

Thoughts of ' The Yalley ' used to fill my heart with 

gloom and fear, 
But lo ! the valley is all bright — I see my Saviour there, 



58 CHRIST: THE ROCK. 

Light'ning it with His victor crown ; His smile serenely 

calm, 
Sheds for the festering wounds within a softly soothing 

balm." 

'Tis noon — high noon — the hour when He sat weary on 

the well, 
And she is weary, and would leave this world with Him 

to dwell ; 
And Christ has come — she feels Him near — The Eock 

whose friendly shade 
Maketh the fiery furnace seem a cool, refreshing glade. 

Yes, he has come to take her where her mother waits 
to fold 

Her daughter in her loving arms, with raptures mani- 
fold ; 

And every shade, and every tear has dimmed that 
daughter's face 

Shall roll, as cloud-drifts from the sun, beneath that 
warm embrace. 

Breathe low ! there is a whisper near, a murmur in the 
pines, 

Far off a partridge drops her note — the sweet, soft, sum- 
mer winds 

Just wave the curtains to and fro — is there another 
sound ? 

The rustle of an angel's wing? — Her soul has pac 
the bound ! 

It wings its flight above the clear, expanding, azure sky ; 
O ! she will never more have cause to breathe the low, 
sad sigh, 



THE MARTYR BOY. 59 

That pine-trees bar the glorious view of God's o'er-arch- 

ing Heaven, 
Now to her pure and cleansed sight such brighter scenes 

are given ! 

^N"ow that she dwells with the redeemed in those deli- 
cious bowers, 

Where God pours down a richer beam than that ' en- 
lightens ours ; 

Where all the air is musical with Dove-notes soft and 
clear ; 

Where Jesus breathes the breath of peace on saints 
reposing there ! 
Summerville, July 11th, 1866. 



Th£ martyr Bog. 



DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF HENRY L. DUNHAM, WHO 
DIED AT ABINGTON, MASS., MAY 25, 1867, AGED 18 
YEARS, 8 MONTHS AND 17 DAYS. 



" They shall walk with me in white; for they are worthy." 



She weeps ! — my sister weeps ! — 
Weeps for her first-born; for her martyr boy ; 
At once her greatest trial, purest joy ; — 
For eighteen years he bore his heavy cross ; 
For him to die is gain — to her the loss ; 
Only a mother's heart can understand 
With what a strong, mysterious, holy band 
God knit his life to her's. A mother's love ! 
ISTot angels dwelling near its fount above 
Can penetrate its depth ! But One alone, 



60 THE MARTYR BOY. 

The Prince of Love, now seated on His throne, 
Can understand its length and depth and height — 
He holds this key of knowledge by His right 
As son of God and man ; His infant rest 
Was on a Virgin's pure, maternal breast! 

• With what a thrill of joy 
My sister pressed her first — her darling boy 
To her soft throbbing heart ! No lovelier flower 
Ere spread its petals in a nuptial bower 
Than this sweet bud — large starry eyes of blue, 
Taking their tint from the autumnal hue 
Of the o'er-arching sky ; — plump, rosy, bright, 
A child of beauty — filling with delight 
All hearts susceptive of the heavenly wile 
That plays around an infant's artless smile ; 
Who could have dreamed that anything amiss 
Would mar the rapture of the welcome kiss 
Pressed on his sweet, soft mouth ! That his smooth brow 
Would wrinkle o'er with pain; his bosom, now 
So pure and yielding, should be made to bear 
The pelting of Life's storm for many a sad, long year ! 

Soon as her boy began to go alone 
The mother's heart assumed an anxious tone; 
All was not right; as year on year sped by 
Her fear increases; and her loving eye 
Follows him ever with uneasy glance, 
Lest to his infant limbs some sad mischance 
Should happen ; for tho' rosy, well and gay. 
He cannot move about, and run, and play 
As other boys — he tottered in his gait, 
As if his body were too great a weight 



THE MARTYR BOY. 61 

For his frail limbs and tiny feet to bear ; 
Ob then in secret many an earnest prayer 
Sped to the One who dries the mourner's tear ! 

Physicians were consulted — none gave hope; 

Some thought that when his wondering eyes did ope 

Upon this world of beauty, at his side 

Stood this affliction, as a spectre bride, 

To darken all his life ; some deemed a fall, 

Or other accident unknown, this pall 

Of blackness had about his cradle cast 

Beneath whose cruel shade his youthful days were past. 

Our greatest Surgeon spoke his candid mind — 

" No art of man a remedy can find 

For this poor boy; and ere he pass away 

The light of reason from his mind shall stray 

Leaving it dark and void." — Thank Grod in this 

The learned Physician thought and spoke amiss ! 

Clear, bright and beautiful did ere remain 

His spirit, tho' his limbs were racked with pain ; 

Tho' on his couch from year to year he lay 

Helpless, around his active brain would play 

Thoughts rich and wonderful — he converse held 

With the sublimes t souls ; from books he drew 

Their treasured wisdom ; with Pierian dew 

Stored the deep cells of his retentive mind ; 

An answer to each question could he find 

At any moment ; from his bosom welled, 

As from a crystal fount, the Holy Truth 

Learnt from a mother's love and sympathizing ruth ! 

And she who made him from the first her care, 
By Providence was led to spend a year — 



62 THE MARTYR BOY. 

The last sad year of his short life — with him ! 
The nine long ones of absence seemed a dream 
When seated by his side. She heard him read ; 
Built up his faith in the most holy creed 
Learnt in his Southern home ; when for the dove, 
But two months lent to stir the fount of love 
In all their breasts, from pious lip and heart, 
Over its " casket " ere 'twas laid apart, 
Went up the words of prayer — she by his plane 
Sat, wiping tears, that fell like summer rain, 
From his sad eyes — and little thought the day 
Was speeding on when God would wipe away 

His last sad tear, 

And in a painless sphere, 
Open those loving eyes which beamed so brightly here ! 

Weep, weep no more! 
Your child has gained the safe, refulgent shore ! 

He who on earth could stir nor hand, nor feet, 

Now with angelic pinions fleet 

Cleaves the pure ether — 'round the height 

Of the celestial Eden wings his flight! 

No longer on his plane 

Must night and day remain ; 

But on a bed of roses 

His long tried, patient soul reposes — 

Guarded by cherubs bright; 

And smiling on his sight, 
The spirit of his infant brother weaves 
A garland for his brow of never dying leaves ! 

And lo ! the Man of Grief, who bore His cross 
So meekly up the rugged mountain side, 
Bends over him, and bids his ransomed Bride 



THE SHEPHERD'S CALL. 63 

To wrap him in the mantle of her love, 
And cause the soothing music of the Dove 

Float by to charm his rest 

Within his rosy nest • 

Where cleansed from earthly dross, 

No more he suffers loss — 
But with the Saints in calm delight awaits 
The bursting of the bars that bind the pearly gates ! 



The Sheplwrd's gall. 



" He calleth his own sheep by name." 

" I am the Good Shepherd, and know my sheep, and am known 
of mine." 



It was not strange, my little dear, 

That G-od should call our Henry hence ; 
He goes to meet his recompense, 

His crown of martyrdom to wear. 

The Shepherd knoweth all His sheep, 
And calleth each to Him by name, 
And they were very much to blame 

If they should earthward turn and weep. 

He calleth for a little lamb — 

It leaps and bounds into his arms ; 
He folds it safe from all alarms : 

No more it bleateth for its dam. 

He calleth one of larger growth — 
He finds Earth's sunny pastures fair ; 
Her flowerets lovely — balm her air ; 

And turneth from them somewhat loth. 



64 MY UNKNOWN FRIEND. 

The Shepherd meets and leads him where 
He sees the heavenly meadows green, 
By angel-hands kept fresh and clean ; 

The winding river cool and clear ! 

He calleth to His sheep — they come 
From where they lie, at heat of day, 
Toil-worn and weary of the way, 

And follow very gladly home ! 

He calls the aged of the flock — 

They have sucked poison from Earth's flowers ; 

Found serpents in her fairest bowers ; 
And wounded feet upon the rock. 

Therefore most gladly do they hear 
His silvery accents calling " home " — 
And answer "blessed Lord we come" 

To breathe the Balm of Eden air. 

And may our little one be given 
The grace ail-lovingly to go, 
When the Good Shepherd whispers low, 

" Come taste the pasturage of Heaven !" 



Mtj Unknown Friend, 



I have a friend — an unknown friend, 

Far o'er the billowy sea ; 
And O ! I wish he would transmit 

A letter unto me ! 
I sent him one I deemed would reach 

His home by Christmas Day, 
Or if not on that happy tide, 

With New Year's dawning ray. 



MY UNKNOWN FRIEND. 65 

I have a friend — a learned friend, 

Old England's gifted son ! 
To whom her martyrs from their graves 

In chorus cry "well done," 
"Well done" — for thou hast nobly stood 

In trial's fearful hour, 
And battled for old England's church — 

Her sure abiding tower ! 

Old England's Church— the Church of Christ, 

Has ever been his theme, 
In her good cause he sacrificed 

Each rainbow-tinted dream — 
Each rainbow dream — each starry hope, 

Bright visions fair of youth, 
He sacrificed them all to aid 

The sacred cause of truth ! 

I have a friend — a poet friend, 

One of the choral band 
Who send the music of their harps 

O'er Albion's happy land ; 
Nor only on her sea-girt shores 

Their Heaven-strung harps rebound, 
Their echoes reach our western wilds 

And 'wake responsive sound! 

And when like David they have vowed 

Their deep-toned Lyres to Heaven, 
Then, what a magical effect 

To each rich chord is given ! 
A power to move the sternest breast — 

To make the gentle weep — 
To soothe the heaving bosom, when 

Dark sorrows o'er it sweep ! 
6 



66 MY UNKNOWN FRIEND. 

Thus Keble is a name to love : 



Milman a spell to bind ; 
Heber a beacon when our bark 

A peaceful port would find ; 
Williams — but O ! I cannot tell 

What he has been to me, 
Williams ! my kind, my unknown friend, 

Far o'er the billowy sea ! 

With him I've wandered in the gloom 

Of old "Cathedral" aisle, 
And trembled while the organ filled 

With solemn swell the pile ; 
Or listened while in cadence sweet 

He of the martyrs told, 
Now resting in their antique tombs — 

Or carved in marble cold. 

With him I've stood and gazed upon 

The pure " Baptistery's " flood, 
Until methought the crystal wave 

Was tinged with Jesus' blood ; 
So awfully each sentence fell 

How His sad death obtains 
To make this, seeming, simple flood 

Wash out the vilest stains ! 

With him I've mused on by-gone scenes, 

Till " Thoughts of Past Years " came 
Too vividly before my sight 

And roused cold memory's flame ; 
With him I've trod the narrow " Way " 

That leads to " Life Eterne," 
Enlightened by the rays that gleam 

Whence Love's pure altars burn. 



THE CHILDREN OF THE CHURCH HOME. 67 

With him I've read and sung by turns 

The " Passion oe Our Lord," 
Until mine inmost spirit longed 

For his life-giving word; 
And if my bosom hath received 

The Spirit warm and free, 
I owe, through God, in part the thanks 

Dear, unknown friend, — to thee ! 
January, 1851. 



The Children of th£ $Jnu^h l|om£* 



I love these children Lord, 
These little lambs of Thine ; 

The flock redeeming love has called 
To pasture near Thy shrine. 

O keep them safely there — 
Protect them from all harms, 

O tender Shepherd I kindly bear 
These nurslings in Thine arms. 

How sweet on Sabbath-day, 
Within thine House of Prayer, 

To list their infant voices rise 
To Heaven in accents clear. 

To hear them swell the hymn ; 

To hear them lisp the creed, 
Whose holy doctrines sage of old 

Had vainly sought to read. 



68 THE CHILDREN OF THE CHURCH HOME. 

To see them meekly kneel ; 

The penitential sigh 
To waft with contrite sinners up, 

In faith, beyond the sky. 

These wayside flowers of earth, 

By Jesus' loving care, 
Were brought to bloom within the gate 

Of God's own Eden fair. 

Oh ! who with ruthless hand 
Would cast them forth again, 

To wither 'neath the summer's sun 
Or Winter's chilly rain ! 

O rather may each soul, 

Redeemed by Heavenly power, 

Pray that the dews of Grace may fall 
Upon each bud and flower. 

Rather may Christian hands, 
With gentle fostering care 

These tender plants about the Tree 
Of Life assist to rear ! 

For angels on That Day 

When Christ shall claim His own, 
From them a garland shall entwine 

Around His glorious Throne ! 

1858. 



LITTLE BET LITTLE HARRIET. 69 

uttu n^u 



A little fairy creature draped in white — 
She bounded in the room and sprang within 
The arms of our loved Pastor : A pure dove 
She seemed snug-nestled there in perfect trust 
And calm confiding love ; or feeble lamb 
Borne by the tender Shepherd on his breast. 
Sweet Innocence upon Eeligion stayed — 
Fair type of the affection deep we owe 
The blessed Jesus ; and th' undoubting faith 
We should repose in Heaven. Make us Lord, 
Like this, Thine infant daughter, pure and true ! 



kittle Harriet* 



She is a winsome, precious pet, 

A darling blue-eyed dove ; 
The sweetest little nursling yet 
Has caught me in the golden net 
Of its pure, baby love ! 

She came in sorrow's blackest night 

Its darkness to illume ; 
A beam of the celestial light — 
A little comfort-freighted sprite, 

She flitted in the gloom. 



70 LITTLE HARRIET. 

But soon upon her pearly vest, 

We spied the taint of sin ; 
The precious dovelet of our nest — 
Our darling, Heaven-commissioned guest, 

Bore the death-spot within ! 

So at the Holy Whitsuntide 

We took her to the stream, 
That ever from the Saviour's side 
Flows forth to cleanse His mystic bride 
And make her brightly beam ! 

From thence our baby bore a dower 

Of beauty, far more rare 
Than that which decks the Lily-flower. 
Or blushes in the Eose's bower 

When Spring is breathing near ! 

And I have vowed this child to be 

An almoner of Heaven; 
Her dimpled hands shall scatter free — 
Into the Saviour's treasury, 

Her gifts shall all be given. 

And may the Triune God indeed 
Confirm my heart-deep prayer, 
Safely her tiny footsteps speed 
In the old pathways to the meed 
Of the Eternal Sphere ! 

May her whole life a mission prove 

To loved ones young and old ; 
The moist rays of soul-pitying love 
Beam from the soft eyes of our dove 
To win into The Fold, 



CONFIRMATION. 71 



Sad, erring spirits, wandering far 

In regions drear and lone, 
Until the pearly gates unbar, 
And show our babe a burning star 
Before the Saviour's throne. 

March IS, 1860. 



ganfirmatian 



AT ST. JOHN'S CHAPEL, HAMPSTEAD, MARCH 25, 1860. 



It is the vesper tide 

And Evening, like a bride, 
Sits blushing in her gorgeous western bower; 

Waiting the regal Night, 

To veil her glowing light 
And lead her to his star-emblazoned tower ! 

But not the bridal sweet 

When Eve and Night shall meet, 
Hath charmed us forth at close of Sabbath-day ; 

Leave to the poet's eye 

The glories of the sky, 
When Nature weaves their nuptial garlands gay. 

Espousals holier thrill 

Our Christian hearts — and fill 

Our human eyes with happy, rapturous dew; 
A soul flings off its clod 
And springs to meet its G-od, 

As tender plants burst forth to cheer the view. 



72 CONFIRMATION. 

O make it truly thine, 

Father and Friend divine ! 
And set thy seal confirmal to the vow, 

That erst in faith was made, 

When she, now sainted, laid 
Her precious one before Thy throne — but now 

She is not here to see 

Her first-born bend the knee, 
And bow his youthful head with reverence meet ; 

To list the voice of prayer 

Float on the buoyant air 
In undulating waves of music sweet. 

From her bright resting star 

An angel points afar 
To the green earth that once she called her home ; 

Following his golden trace 

Along the fields of space 
She marks this humble, consecrated dome — 

Where, calm and most serene 

The holy man is seen 
Clothed with authority from God on High, 

To bless with Jesus' love 

Each trembling, timid dove 
That to the riven Eock would gladly fly. 

As on the happy day 

She watched his first essay 
To poise his little frame and walk alone ;• 

So now her beaming eye, 

Love-lighted, from the sky 
Sees this first step towards the Heavenly Zone. 



CONFIRMATION. 73 

Lo ! with maternal care 

She spreads her arms, for fear 
Her tender one should stumble by the way; 

She cannot reach him here — 

And now her eyes in prayer 
Are lifted to the realms of endless day, 

" Father ! my first-born joy 

Save from Earth's sad annoy, 
And lead in safety through the howling "Wild — 

Blest Spirit grace impart ; 

Jesu3 with loving art 
Woo to Thy breast my precious, darling child." 



ganfirmatijcm. 



Loved one ! whose body moulders in yon grave 

Marked by the sacred emblem of the cross, 

But whose immortal spirit long has passed 

Into the rest which is not indolence ; 

But that sublime repose and heavenly calm 

Laid up in store for all the dead in Christ! 

from that sphere — wherever it revolves, 

In the illimitable Space of God, 

On its harmonious axis 'round the Throne 

Of the All-Loving Heart — hast thou beheld 

The scenes enacted here ? Scenes that had stirred 

Thy pure, maternal heart if still on Earth, 

To its serenest depth ! I cannot think 

That the beloved departed ever nigh — 

7 



74 CONFIRMATION. 

Close as the atmosphere that wraps us 'round — 

Know every thought and throb of our proud hearts 

Still struggling in this gloom ; if they maintain 

Affections, kin to those that moved them here, 

They would too keenly suffer when we sinned. 

Yet verily subscribe this cheering creed — 

That when such scenes occur in this our Orb, 

May add new rapture to the souls in Bliss, 

Jehovah sends some bright, angelic power 

To point the same to their adoring gaze ; 

Then the commissioned Seraph lifts the veil 

That hides our green-robed earth ; and makes the ken 

Of the reposing spirit strike its disk 

And draw new draughts of light and love from thence. 

Thus, dear one, I believe that thou hast <ccn 

The wonders God has wrought in thy beloved, 

Thy first-born, the beginning of the joy 

Maternal — which welled up so pure and fresh 

For all the sons that followed. The dear lamb 

Thou broughtest rejoicing to the Saviour's fold. 

And laid, in faith, upon His tender breast, 

To be renewed by water and His Grace ! — 

And now, by virtue of that Love Divine, 

Has he progressed and taken his first step 

In Christian Life. But two short weeks agone 

He bowed his youthful head in meekness low, 

And "trembling at the sacred rail" received 

The imposition of anointed hands. 

With benediction wedded to deep prayer. 

Well I remember when he first essayed 

To take his primal step, on Earth — alone. 

How tenderly thou watched him — what delight 

Beamed in thy dark, deep eyes ; raving, star-like, 



FIRST COMMUNION. 75 

From shadow of the long, black, silken fringe. 

How thy fond arms extended, circling 'round 

To shield thy child from harm ! E'en thus, methought, 

I saw thee stretch them forth when his first step 

He took alone upon the heavenly road, 

As thou wouldst guard him from more serious fall. 

And lo ! a whisper, softer than the voice 

Of turtle cooing 'mid the tender vines, 

Comes floating to thine ear: "]N~ot thy weak arms. 

But the Almighty Saviour's must enfold 

And bear thy child uninjured through the Wild.'' 

" Trust all to God in Him!" And then thine eyes 

Turned in their dewy trustfulness to Heaven, 

Where that great Human Heart beats warm and true, 

On the Eternal Throne at God's right hand, 

Yet still is touched by feeling of our need, 

Having when on Earth been tempted like to us, 

Yet keeping free from every taint of Sin. 



First {gammumon* 



EASTER-SUNDAY — APRIL 8TH, 1860. 



No mortal has done this! The hand of God 
Alone has set the seed. The dew of Grace 
Fell from His urn in soft, refreshing showers, 
More potent than the first and latter rain, 
Causing this tender shoot to grow and thrive, 
A young plant in the Temple of His Son ! 
Therefore with hearts rejoicing go we up 
To keep the Feast of Feasts ! The risen Christ, 



76 FIRST COMMUNION. 

Meets in the garden with a solemn " Hail " 
This youthful heart, and bids it come with Him 
And rest awhile upon the Lily beds. 
Within His spicy bowers — There, in peace, 
To list the whisper of the Spirit Dove. 

O happy thus in youth to taste of Heaven ! 

Before the clutch of Sin has held thee tight, 

And thy release cause wrestling and keen pain ! 

Now rather all is joy ! And Earth and Heaven 

Seem brought in contact by a golden stair, 

On which bright angels travel to and fro, 

And by whose rounds thou too mayest mount to God ! 

Blest Easter! by thy Mother loved so well — 

"Which ever through her bosom sent a thrill 

Of pure and holy joy ! 'Twaa meet that thou, 

Her son, should consecrate this sacred time 

By giving up thyself entire to God 

In body, soul and spirit. Drawing near, 

In full assurance, and most earnest faith, 

Unto the Holy Table of thy Lord, 

There to receive the mystic bread and wine, 

Shall make thee reach the perfect man in Christ. 

For this our prayer ascendeth. And when thou, 
In Adam shall have paid the debt of Life, 
God grant, in Christ, thou mayest be made alive, 
And in His heavenly Kingdom share the bliss 
Of those departed in His faith and fear! 



THOUGHTS DURING CONVENTION. 77 



Thoughts Buring @ attention. 



MAY, 1860. 



Two absent from the assembly of The Church — 
From our small portion of the Fold Divine, 
The vast Christ-purchased Body Catholic ! 
'Gainst which the gates of Hell shall not prevail ; 
Whose glorious chart is written in His blood, 
And sealed with the Eternal seal of G-od, 
Impressed by His right hand of love and power. 
Two absent — and our tears attest the deep 
And fond emotion of our troubled souls, 
As our sad eyes vainly seek out their forms. 
One nevermore shall sit in council here! — * 
His place henceforth is with the sainted dead, 
The sacramental hosts of G-od's elect, — 
To rest with Christ until th' Eternal Dawn. 

The other — and our hearts go with him — bears 

His heavy cross along Life's dreary way, 

On trial in the furnace of sharp pain. 

Oar venerable Father! f How we miss 

His calm presiding presence — the repose, 

Almost sublime, of his pure, classic brow ; 

The deep serene of the angelic face 

From whence all trace of sin has been expelled : 

* Kev. Cranmore Wallace. 

f Bishop Davis — at this time in the hand of a skilful Northern 
oculist. 



78 THOUGHTS DURING CONVENTION. 

Those sweet, sad eyes, earth-veiled, yet filled with 

■ light— 
The Light which lighteth every soul redeemed. 
And oh Thou Light ! who, when upon our Orb, 
Not only shed'st Thy ray within the soul, 
Chasing the darkness from that deep recess, — 
But whose true human and most loving heart, 
Pitying our sad infirmities, sent health, 
And strength and vigor through our sin-racked frames ; 
Who healed'st the sick — rcstored'st the dead to life; 
And drov'st the Demons from dark, troubled souls — 
Be with us in this hour of sore distress, 
And from thy Kingly Throne in highest Heaven. 
Hear our sad cry for our beloved head — 
Our dear afflicted Bishop! With Thine hand 
Break the firm seals that hold the precious sight 
Deep in its secret cell. The visual nerve. 
Rewakened by thy touch, shall drink in light, 
Beauty and joy, — from earth, and sea. and skv! 

But if — within the depths of Love Divine — 

The predetermined counsel of God's will 

Has ordered otherwise. That will be done : 

Make us to bow submissive; and his soul 

Fill with such floods of the celestial ray 

As shall expel all darkness, and make clear 

All that seems now inscrutable. As gloom 

Deepens and deepens outward — greater light 

Pour in, until the introverted glance. 

Purged from the sights of earth, with holy John 

YieAvs that bright Home, whose light is from the Lamb! 



EASTER EVE. 79 



Easter Etr£ 



A FRAGMENT. 



'Tis a sweet, quiet eve — The sun has sunk 

Behind the forest trees, yet still the heavens 

Keflect his dazzling ray and richly glow 

With crimson, gold and sapphire. To the east 

A peaceful lakelet lies, beneath the smile 

Of the full Paschal moon, around whose edge 

The weeping willows droop their graceful heads, 

And with their feathery branches stir the wave 

Dimpling its face with beauty. 'Tis an hour 

Of deep, mysterious calmness — All the world 

Seems resting in tranquillity and peace 

As if it held a Sabbath, or reposed 

With Jesus in the quiet sleep of death 

Waiting the great uprising. Not a sound 

Disturbs the awful stillness of the scene, 

Save when a passing zephyr stirs the trees 

Making their graceful branches kiss the tide. 

Not e'en the mock-bird's merry note is heard, 

Nor wailing of the lonely whippoorwill. 

Now o'er the beaming visage of yon orb, 

Night's radiant queen, the pure, refulgent moon, 

A floating cloud has flung a silvery veil ; 

And now a thick, black pall has hid her face, 

But lo ! she breaks through the obscuring mist, 

And casts the veil of darkness from her brow ! 

Thus may my soul burst through each darksome shroud 

And float serenely on the track of Heaven. 



80 WHIT-SUNDAY. 

Whit-Sunday, 



SUMMERVILLE, 1866. 



DEDICATED TO THE REV. J. A. HAItROLD, PASTOR OF THE CHURCH. 



MORNING. 

It was the Festival of Whitsuntide — 
The Church assembled waited as of yore 
The coming of the blessed Paraclete, 
The Lord and source of Life, whose advent He, 
The once abased, but now exalted Son, 
Had promised from The Father; who proceed- 
Alike from both — with both as God adored ! 

Within the chancel stands the aged priest,* 

So long the well-loved pastor of this Flock ; 

.Resigned with pain, yet with submissive faith 

And confidence in the unerring love 

Of the great Shepherd who from his weak grasp, 

Weakened by sickness and declining life, 

Had gently ta'en the pastoral staff — and placed 

The sacred trust in younger, stronger hands 

Meekly he stands, in snowy vesture clad, 

Beside the Altar waiting to assist 

The Eector at the Eucharistie feast, 

Who meanwhile with clear, earnest voice intoned 

Our solemn ritual. Pale he is, and weak 

From recent illness, but he needs must come 

* The Kev. Philip Gadsden, for thirty-seven years Rector of St. 
Paul's Church, Summerville. 



WHIT-SUNDAY. 81 

To feed his Master's Flock within the wild, 

By love and duty prompted. Now he reads 

From the blessed Word of G-od, how wicked men 

In early ages served the Infant Church, 

And how she grew beneath the fiery scourge. 

But lo ! he stops, he trembles, he bows down — 

He lays his head in his extended palm — 

Reels — would have fallen, had not anxious friends 

Flown to his aid — and borne his fainting form 

Into the Vestry-room, amid the tears, 

And startled gaze of his awe-stricken flock ! 

Say, is it life or death ? Life ! Life ! He lifts, 
Slowly, the drooping purple-tinted lids 
From his dark eyes and life is beaming there, 
Tho' dimly in a little feeble spark ! 

The aged minister with faint, low voice, 
Made fainter by deep feeling, now takes up, 
From where 'twas broken off, the sacred Form, 
And finishes the Daily Morning Prayer. 
The sermon is omitted — yet or ere 
He goes towards the Altar thence to take, 
"Within his priestly hands the bread and wine, 
And after Consecration give them round, 
No longer common food, to those who kneel 
In lively faith and penitential love — 
The door is gently opened, and in glides, 
More like a pallid ghost than living man, 
The Rector, and once more resumes his place 
To minister the Sacramental Rite 
Of Holy Baptism — to one who waits, 
All sadly clad in sorrow's gloomy weeds, 
To be received and made the Child of G-od. 



82 WHIT-SUNDAY. 



EVENING. 



A flatter of white garments and the tramp 

Of infant feet along the pleasant path 

Leading unto the little village church ; 

Sec, through the windows, how they flit along 

The little innocent things! all wreathed in smiles, 

And bearing fragrant flowers in their hands, 

Meet offering of fresh childhood unto God ! — 

'Tis evening — and the second lesson o'er 

They enter, singing blithely as the birds, 

Their Father's House ; — as those blessed ones of old 

On whom the gracious Saviour showered praise 

And move towards the Altar — where he stands, 

Their Pastor! — from his bed of suffering come. — 

Waiting with loving heart, his gentle lambs, 

Oh! 'twas a sight the angels must have loved 

To look upon ! The pastor's kindly eye 

Filled with soft tears — and not an eye or heart 

Within the church but sympathized with his. 

They passed up by the aisle, those boys and girls 

Bearing their blossoms — and on cither hand 

Parting, arrange themselves in order meet 

On both sides of the chancel, and adown 

The middle aisle — still singing their glad song, 

And see, two little ones — all fairy-like, 

And lovely as the angels ; — One with wild, 

Dark, eager eyes 'neath brow replete with thought, 

And features o'er whose winsome innocence 

The light of genius flashes, and lights up 

The whole with beam of Heaven ! The other pet, 

A slender child, with soft, blue, loving eyes; 

And golden ringlets rippling o'er her neck — 



WHIT-SUNDAY. 83 

Bearing a tiny basket decked with flowers, 
Within which, closely sealed, the offering lay, 
Collected from these little ones to aid 
The cause of Missions in the Heathen Land. 
At signal from the pastor they approach, 
And kneeling at the chancel, place within 
His ready hand the offering of the school, 
Then flit away, like timid doves, and take 
Their place among the children of The Fold. 

The pastor in few, simple words explains, 
And speaks to them of Holy Whitsuntide — 
How Catechumens in the Early Times, 
All robed in snowy white, were on this day 
Admitted, by baptism, to the Church — 
They, too, had all been members made of Christ ; 
Children of G-od, and heirs of Life Divine ; 
And wore white robes in token of the same. 
See to it, that ye keep your hearts unsoiled 
By stain of sin — as Christian children should ; 
Then shall the angels bear ye when ye die 
To live with Christ forever in the skies ! — 

Once more their youthful voices join in song : 
The Benediction followed — and the love 
Of God the spirit nestled in each heart. 



84 SONNET — OLD JACK. 

Sonnet. 



TO MY NEPHEW — H. L. D. 



How much of suffering has been thine, Dear boy, 
In this terrestrial sphere! Thy span of years, 
Bounded a dozen amid sighs and tears, 

And dark o'er hanging clouds. Yet bright-eyed joy 

Peeped, ever and anon, with glances coy, 

From out the murky veil, and flashed the light 
Of Hope celestial o'er thy saddened spright, 

And leaving thee sweet flowers with which to toy! 

All lone and cheerless hitherto thy lot — 

Save when, for Jesus' sake, some Christian heart 

Took pity on the exile — and thy cot 
Blessed with his holy tendance. Now thou art 

Surrounded by thy dear ones, and may rest 

Thy aching head upon thy Mother's breast ! 
January, 1861. 



01d Uc\\. 



Thou hoary patriarch of ninety-seven, 
Waiting thy summons to the Court of Heaven ; 
How do I grieve to leave thee here alone, 
Without one mind congenial to thine own ; 
Without a friend to ope the sacred scroll, 
And pour the light celestial on thy soul 



OLD JACK. 85 

Streaming from every line ; to lead thy thought 
Far from the world's turmoil to Him who wrought 
For thy redemption, and His life-blood shed 
A gory tide, on Calvary's rugged head ! 

Ah, yes ! — I grieve to leave thee groping here 
In twofold darkness — desolate and drear — 
Thy visual orb closed to the golden day; 
In vain the brilliant flowers along thy way ; 
In vain will pleasant corn-fields wave and veer 
Their bright green foliage in the Summer air, 
And sable rustics bind th' Autumnal grain, 
And bear the golden sheaves for thee in vain ! 

But sadder yet to think the sacred page 

To thee is sealed as for a little age ; 

The long, long Summer-tide must come and go, 

Ere thou shalt list its holy precepts flow 

From lip of mistress dear — or Pastor friend ; 

Or, one unworthy who yet loves to blend 

Her voice with thine in solemn prayer or hymn, 

While holy feeling mounting to the brim 

Buns o'er her soul — and floats within her eyes 

In supplication glancing to the skies. 

And I have seen thee weep right bitter tears, 
O'er sins and follies of thy early years ; — 
O may they all be treasured up on high, 
Where God himself shall wipe from every eye 
Contrition's dew — and turn to gems of light 
To deck the Saviour's Coronal — more bright 
Than those of Seraphim, who wheel their cars 
Above the golden orbit of the stars, 
Or sainted elders' chaplets, only meet 
To form a pavement for Jehovah's feet! 



86 THE SAD HEART. 

Nor thou alone — but all the aged band, 
Approaching surely to the shadowy strand, 
I leave regretful ! O Almighty King J 
Keep them securely 'neath thy sheltering wing; 
In life or death be Thou their constant stay, 
Thine Angel lead them on their darksome way, 
Should Summer-shaft their feeble bodies wound ; 
Or blasts Autumnal lay them on the ground 
Like withered leaflets — may their end be peace — 
Their spirits garner in that isle where cease 
All sin and sorrow, to await the dawn 
Shall part the curtain of serial lawn, 
And pour upon their long expected eyes 
The dazzling glory of the CPPEB skies! 
May, 1857. 



The Sad Heart. 



Heart ! wherefore art thou sad ? 
Does not the Sun glance lightly on thy home, 
Are not affection's flowers around the dome 
Entwined to make thee glad. 
O Heart, 
Within the sphere where Heaven hath set thy part ? 

Seek'st thou the meteor bright, 
That plays awhile around the Poet's name? 
Wouldst beam a star within the shrine of Fame ? 
What though they gleam to-night, 
O Heart, 
To-morrow's sun will see them soon depart ! 



THE SAD HEART. 87 

If not to flame on high — 
Yet thou wouldst see the Laurel on my brow, 
See noble souls before the minstrel bow 
And offer tear or sigh : 
O Heart, 
Could this allay or soothe thy secret smart ? 

Sigh'st thou for Love, fond breast? 
"Wouldst thou his sweet and rosy garland twine, 
And lay the tribute on the flaming shrine 
Of Hymen ? — Sad unrest, ■ 
O Heart, 
Too often is the meed of Love's flower-hidden dart ! 

Seek'st thou a kindred soul, 
Whose every pulse shall vibrate with thine here ? 
AVho'll give thee smile for smile and tear for tear ? 
Thy sure magnetic pole ? — 
Heart, 
Friendship like this has not on earth a part? 

Yet cease fond Heart to sigh — 
Lo ! Jesus cometh with his Angels bright, 
To welcome thee before the Throne of Light ; 
Beneath his beaming eye, 
O Heart, 
All vain desires and foolish hopes depart. 



MIDNIGHT MUSINGS. 



Midnight Musings, 



i. 

'Tis the noon of night — the stars are shining bright, 
Looking down upon me with their holy eyes ! 

Sleep has flown away — Spirit-borne I stray 
Through their realm of boundless mysteries. 

Pure and solemn stars! — Nothing adverse mars 
The majestic course of their harmonious sweep — 

Only one frail power — fell in evil hour, 
Over whose decline the angels weep ! 

Through the fields of air — rushing in despair, 

Plunging ever downward, dark ward, more and more, 

From etherial height — all bereft of light, — 
Hung eclipsed above the stygian shore ! 

But Eternal Thought — its redemption wrought — 
Letting down from Heaven a pure golden chain, 

Links of Love and Grace — lifting to its space, 
'Mid her sister orbs once more to reign. 

ii. 

It is said the soul — ere it met control 
Of the earthly body, a melodious sphere, 

With rerial grace — floated through all space, 
Drinking in the harmonies of air — 

N eared the inner shrine — Heard the voice Divine, 
Which all other harmonies so far excel — 

Made it thence the note — whose sweet echoes mote 
Every discord from her life expel. 



MIDNIGHT MUSINGS. 89 

We a higher flight through the realms of Light 
Take — and veering heavenward read the sacred lore ; 

Breath of Yery God — breathed in moulded sod, 
Lit the spark that burnetii evermore ! 

Of so high degree — Man must ever be 

Left with godlike license of Free Will to choose — 
'Twixt the bad and good — Husk or Heavenly food — 

Light — or Darkness of Cimmerian hues ! 

'Mid the fragrant flowers — of the Eden bowers, 
Near the fatal tree of Knowledge, Satan stood— 

By his own dread might — changed to form of Light, 
" Eat beloved, this is Angel's food." 

God, who cannot lie — uttered " Sin and die!" 

Was there none on Earth to change the just decree ? 

From th' Eternal Dome — Lo ! a voice — " I come 
For this hour has God begotten Me !" 

in. 

Shout redeemed Earth — and ye souls whose birth 
To the Life immortal, brought the Son Divine 

From His Father's rest — to the Virgin's breast, 
Evermore from thence a light to shine — 

Filling Heaven and Earth ! — Angels catch our mirth, 
Borrowed first from your seraphic natal lay, 

When a stream of light — thwart the track of Night — 
Ye to Shepherds heralded The Eay ! 



90 THE LAY OF A LONE HEART. 



Ths &atj td $. htxx\z ijeart 



Sweet is the carol of the birds 

At dewy dawn of day ; 
And sweet the warble of their throats 

All through the flowery May ; 
They sing — and never fear a rude 

Discordant note shall jar 
Upon a pure refined ear 

And all the music mar. 

O birds ! your liquid, gushing strains 

Pour sadness on my heart ; 
Would that like you, in conscious power, 

I too could bear a part 
In Nature's universal hymn, 

And to its Author lift 
The tribute of a grateful soul, 

For a true — perfect gift. 

But all the notes that I can frame 

Harsh, dissonant, or low, 
In broken and disjointed strains, 

From a wounded spirit flow : 
And yet I feel the gift of song 

To me in part is given, 
But he, who used to set it true, 

Now swells the chant of Heaven!* 

*Rev. C. Wallace, the author's friend and pastor. 



THE LAY OF A LONE HEART. 91 

He, who with tender guiding hand. 

My trembling footsteps led, 
To where the Saviour's flock repose 

On fresh and verdant bed, 
Fast by the Stream of Life that flowed 

In rippling murmur by, 
Soothing the sorrow-stricken heart, 

And hushing every sigh ! 

Nor only in those pastures green, 

And by the Holy Hill; 
But through the Yale of Poesy 

And by its gurgling rill 
He led me — and his word of cheer 

My timid heart would fire 
With hope that even song of mine 

Might swell the minstrel choir ! 

The world is full of minds of might 

God-gifted, holy, free — 
But he is gone and none are near 

To guide and comfort me ! 
Alone, and groping in the dark 

I wander night and day, 
And strike my rude and timid harp 

In secret, far away. 

In some lone, darksome, dreary nook, 

Where none can hear my song — 
O birds ! would that my breast could pour 

Your perfect notes and strong ; — 
Would that an instinct true as yours 

Could give my yearning- voice ; 
Then should my early, gladsome lay 

Wake Nature to rejoice. 



92 AUTUMNAL MUSINGS. 

O that the faith in me was strong 

To feel my music true, 
Then should I hail the dawning light 

AYith carols ever new : 
But no — I cannot trust my song, 

And none to me is given, 
To fill the void in heart and life, 

Since he has gone to Heaven ! 



Autumnal Musings, 



The year is dying out — the Autumnal breeze 

Sweeps o'er the forest trees, 

Awaking solemn music in the heart 

Attuned to bear her part 

In Nature's diapason, and to hear 

God's voice forever near; 

Speaking in whispers low 

When Zephyrs blow 
O'er rosy bowers ; 

And when the rude winds bow 

The pines as now, 
And tempest lowers. 

Now on the margin of the river 

The red and golden leaflets quiver, 

Beady to drop on flood or clay ; 

To float as fairy barks away, 
Or spread a carpet meet 
For stern December's icy feet : 



AUTUMNAL MUSINGS. 93 

Eed the Sun, 
His day's work done, 
Seeks his crimson couch of rest 
O'er Mount Kathrine's modest crest, 
Without a sigh 
Like him may I, 
Through golden portals pass, to rise 
After death's tranquil sleep, in worlds beyond the skies ! 

The year is dying out — may sin 

Die from my soul within ; 

O, that the wintry winds could blow it thence ! 

Restore lost innocence ; 

Sweep clean the mansion — make my guilty soul 

A fair unspotted scroll, 

To write Life's deeds anew, 

That they could strew 

My passions on the ground 

And I be found 

Pure as the Lily flower 

Washed by an April shower ! 

"Not so! Not so! 
'Tis not Autumnal breezes that must blow 

Athwart thy sinful breast ; 

ISTot North-winds rushing by, 

Nor the South's balmy sigh 

Can purge that guilty nest ; 
Call on the Spirit with a mighty prayer — 

His kindly breath shall bear 
The dew of healing to thy wounded soul, 
And work a wonder by Divine control : 
At his approach the fruits of virtue spring, 

And odorous spices fling 



94 AUTUMNAL MUSINGS. 

Rich perfume o'er the garden of the soul ; 

His influence prepare 

Hymenial banquets there, 
Meet for the Bridegroom when he takes his rest 

In thy regenerate breast !" 

List ! in the cany brake, 

iErial voices make 
Soft melody to lull the dying day 

Passing away — away ; 

And I the dying year 

With kindred notes would cheer, 
Now speeding to his dark and chilly grave ; 

And when, like Year and Day, 

I too must puss away, 
May sounds angelical my spirit lave 

In music's liquid tide : 

And should the night-bird's scream 

As now disturb my dream ; — 
Or beatific visions as they glide 
In golden haze before my fading sight ; — 

O may its note be found 

Only to throw around 
A solemnized and spirit-stirring awe, 

As the lone soul doth draw 
Nearer the borders of the unknown land — 

Where the pure white-robed band, 

With flowery garlands, stand 
Eeady to welcome to th' Eternal Height 
The ransomed of the Lord — the saved from Hell's 
despite ! 



PART THE SECOND. 




GROWING OUT OF 



THE LATE WAR 



Furl that banner — ?oftly, slowly ; 
Furl it gently, it is holy, 

For it droops above the dead. 
Touch it not, unfurl it never, 
Let it droop there, furled forever, 

For its people's hopes are fled. 



[Kyan. 



$- t i s & 



9 



Carolinians ! who inherit 

Blood which flowed in patriot veins ! 
Pouse ye from lethargic slumber ! 

Pouse and fling away your chains ! 
From the mountain to the seaboard 

Let the cry be — Up ! Arise ! 
Throw our pure Palmetto banner 

Proudly upward tv> the skies. 

Fling it out — its Lone Star beaming 

Brightly to the Nation's gaze — 
Lo ! another star arises ! 

Quickly — proudly it emblaze — 
Yet another ! Bid it welcome 

With a hearty "three times three;" 
Send it forth, on boom of cannon, 

Southern men will dare be free ! 

Faster than the cross of battle 

Summoned rude Clan Alpine's host ; 
Flash the news from sea to mountain, 

Back from mountain to the coast ! 
On the lightning's wing it fleeth — 

Scares the Eagle in his flight, 
As his keen eye sees arising, 

G-lory — yet shall daze his sight! 

Cease the triumph — days of darkness 

Loom upon us from afar ; 
Can a woman's voice for battle 

Ping the fatal note of war? — 



08 ARISE ! 

Yes — when we have borne aggression. 

Till submission is disgrace, 
Southern women call for action — 

Beady would the danger face ! 

Yes — in many a matron's bosom 

Burns the Spartan spirit now; 
From the maiden's eye it flashes, 

Glows upon her snowy brow ; 
E'en our infants in their prattle 

Urge us on to risk our all ; — 
" Would we leave them, as a blessing, 

The Oppressor's hateful thrall ! " 

No ! — then up, true-hearted Southrons, 

Like bold "giants nerved by wine," 
Never fear ! the cause is holy — 

It is sacred — yea Divine ! 
For the Lord of Hosts is with us — 

It is He has cast our lot ; 
Blest our homes — from lordly mansion, 

To the humblest negro cot. 

God of Battles ! hear our cry, 
Give us nerve to do or die ! 
Charleston, November 12th, I860. 



HYMN OF FREEDOM. 99 



$ymn of Fr^dcm* 



Hail the birth of Southern Freedom ! 

Hail the glorious herald star! 
From the purple field of morning 

Flinging its pure sheen afar ; 
Brighter than the light Hyperian 

Beaming on Aurora's brow, 
Shines the brilliant Orb of Freedom, 

Carolina's frontlet now! 

G-lorious Star! which Carolina 

Hangs a beacon to the world; 
From its proud, exalted station 

Never more shall it be hurled ! 
Sister orbs may light their fires 

At its pure, refulgent flame, 
But till Time's great torch expires, 

It shall burn fore'er the same ! 

Bow the knee to God eternal, 

Our Creator, Saviour, King ; 
Till He take us to the shelter 

Of His own Almighty Wing ; 
Till the unction of His Spirit, 

Bests upon our Country's shrine ; 
And we live, a chosen people, 

In the Light of Love Divine.! 
November 19th, 1860. 



100 THE PATRIOT SEER. 



The fatriat Seer, 



WRITTEN AFTER READING THE HON. F. TV. PICKENS' LETTER FROM 
POLAND. 



" Poland ! Poland ! we have heard thy story ; 
Poland's sons are Poland's glory ! " 



On ancient "Warsaw's storied height 3 

From brig-lit Sarmatian plain, 
The patriot thought upon his home 

Far o'er the western main; 
From where each hoary feudal tower 

Shot upward to the sky — 
Thought of his far off Southern home 

With moist, prophetic eye. 
And faithful bosom all aglow. 
To stand by her — come weal, come woe ! 

No more in half barbaric state. 

And Eastern splendor rare, 
Elective nobles with their trains 

To Yolo's mead repair : 
No longer Poland's warriors flash 

Their free swords to the sky. 
Their arms made mighty by the glance 

Of woman's kindling eye ! 
For Polish women ever stood 
Undaunted 'mid the fiery flood ! 



THE PATRIOT SEER. 101 

No longer free— no longer great — 

Poland dismembered lies, 
Blotted from Nations of the Earth, 

'Neath God's o'erarching skies; 
Yet has she left a living name 

On Time's historic page, 
Traced with a pen of light — her sons 

Eternal heritage ! — 
A name which thrills the patriot's soul — 
He kindles at the name of — Pole! 

And such as Poland was of yore, 

We Southrons are to-day — 
A gallant, proud, heroic race ; 

And will remain alway — 
Holding the Land in fee of God ; 

Elected, by His will, 
To patriarchal rule o'er rude 

Untutored tribes — To fill, 
Their minds with holy Christian lore, 
They ne'er had learnt on Heathen shore ! 

And gallant Poland might have stood 

'Gainst leagued oppression's power, 
Had her brave sons been leal and true 

In her dark trial hour; 
Had her bold chiefs put local feuds, 

And jealous rancor down — 
A modern halo would have ringed 

Her name of old renown ; — 
A people gallant, bold and free, 
United ne'er can conquered be ! 



102 CANAAN'S DOOM. 

So mused the patriot — and sent 

That sigh upon the breeze 
To where old Ocean's billows lave 

Our rough Palmetto trees — 
To where his far off Southern home 

Beamed as a gem of light, — 
Caught not his keen prophetic ken, 

The Lone Star — Glorious sight ! 
Wheeling her silver-cinctured car 
Eight to the front of Freedom's war 
November 23d, 1860. 



Canaan's Boom. 



None can stay His hand, or say unto Him what docth thou ?' 



It fell — the curse malign 

Upon the head of Ham ; 
He cowered in amaze and fright, 

Before the great " I Am" — 

As He, the Eternal God, 

Through the insulted Sire, 
Hurled it upon his guilty head 

In stern, enduring ire; 
And hallowed each domestic shrine, 
By that awe-striking Act Divine ! [Gen. 9th 

And the fresh, fertile earth, 
Baptized by the flood, 
Heard — and her bosom felt the shock 
Of severed brotherhood ! 



CANAAN'S DOOM. 103 

All through her forests green, 

And cavern ed mountains rude 
Echoed the awful thunder-stroke 

Of Canaan's servitude — 
" Servant of servants shall he be 
To Japhet's large posterity!" 

None may the curse remove — 

To last until The Day 
When gathered nations of the Earth 

Must face the dreadful ray 

Of Christ the Judge — and call — 

Yea, voice of bond and free 
Shall mingle in that awful cry, 

" O mountain fall on me, 
And cover from the Eye of Him 
"Who rides upon the Cherubim!" [Rev. 6th 

The faithful Abraham dwelt 

Among his bondmen dear, 
Those whom a righteous G-od had placed 

Beneath his fostering care : — 

Lo ! to an aged slave 

What mighty trust is given ! 
" For Isaac bring the chosen bride 

Elect of Highest Heaven ; 
For, from my son, it is decreed, 
Shall come the holy, promised Seed." 

[Gen. 29th. 

And when with joyous feet 
The hosts of Israel prest, 
On further side of Jordan's flood 
The land of happy rest; 



104 Canaan's doom. 

And raised their altars pure 

To the One holy God— 
The sons of Labor dwelt with them 

Upon the sacred sod ; 
Bearing the water and the wood, 
In humble, cheerful servitude. 

At last, in God's fall time, 

The promised Seed was given 
And meekly Jesus walked the Earth, 

So late the King of Heaven ; 

He who at sin could hurl 

The lightning shaft of ire, 
And cause his human visage glow 

With Godhead's awful tire! 
Would he permit His holy eye, 
Rest on a crime and pass it by ? 

When the Centurion sought 

His blessing for his slave — 
"My servant is tormented sore, 

Lord speak the word 'and save' " — 

Christ said not — i: get thee hence 

And set thy bondman free, 
Ere thou presume in suppliance meek 

To bow the reverent knee"' — 
But, marvelling at his faith's great power, 
Healed his sick slave " the self-same hour." 

[Matt. 8th, 

And they who read aright 
The Word of God may see 
How prophets, priests, apostles, all 
Uphold the dread decree ; — 



FOR THE GERMANS. 105 

They have not dared to set 

The seal of Heaven aside, 
As modern fanatics would do 

In bold presumptuous pride, 
But urged on servants to obey — 
On Masters — to bear equal sway ! 

See that your tents become 

O Japhet ! schools of Grace, 
Where Gospel blessings may distill 

On Canaan's humble race ; 

Eemembering ye too have 

A Master just — on high, 
Who, on the Judgment morn, the works 

Of every man shall try — 
If faithful found — or bond — or free 
Shall dwell with Christ Eternally! 
Limerick Plantation, December 26th, 1860. 



Vox th£ firmans. 



Born in the year when Germans' rose 

11 En masse" to free their land, 
From foreign Despot's galling yoke — 

From France's iron hand ! 
How can I help it that my blood 

Flows tingling through each vein. 
My heart leaps high — my pulses throb 

To snap the cord in twain 
That binds us to fraternal foe, 
Would work us dark, malignant woe ! 



106 FOR THE GERMANS. 

When Liberty's true sun arose 

On Lands of old renown, 
Presaging soon the meteor glare 

Of carnage should go down ! 
When valor bared his strong right arm, 

And flashing to the sky 
The sword of Justice, called on God 

To bles3 it from on high ! — 
And God did bless it — hear Him say, 
" Vengeance is mine, I will repay." 

Then the immortal Korner seized 

His Country's slumbering lyre, 
And ran o'er its neglected chords 

His fingers tipped with fire ! — 
Like him I may not dare to sing 

High prcan to the sword, 
But I can kiss with glowing lip, 

And bless with holy word — 
The blades — if forced to battle-field — 
Our gallant sons shall bravely wield ! 

For in my heart I feel the glow 

Of high prophetic fires ! 
Great Deborah's exalted faith 

My patriot-soul inspires — 
And I would make her battle-cry 

Eesound throughout the land — 
" Up, for the day of God has come, 

Deliverance is at hand ! 
Up ! — lest the curse of Meroz fall ! — 
Ye came not at Jehovah's call !" 



FORTS MORRIS AND MOULTRIE. 107 

But German hearts beat warm and true 

As when in Father-Land, 
They rallied at fair Freedom's call 

And seized the battle-brand ! — 
And now at Carolina's voice, 

With hearts exultant-free — 
They lock their sinewy arms around 

Her firm Palmetto Tree ! — 
Strong arms ! that erst Napoleon's car 
Backed on his gory track of war ! 
November, 1860. 



F^rts Morris and f&oultrije. 



Hark the wind-storm how it rushes ! — 

List ! methinks I hear the strain 
Of wild music it awak'neth, 

As it sweeps along the main ! 
Bustling in the old Palmettos — 

Stirs it not each patriot breast, 
In the Camp of proud Fort Morris, 

On this day of holy rest ? 

Day of Eest in the good city, — 

But down there, along the strand, 
Active work — and keen-eyed watching 

For the brave, heroic band, 
To whom G-od has given honor, 

In permitting them to be 
First to send the shot for Freedom, 

Booming o'er the foaming sea I 



108 FORTS MORRIS AND MOULTRIE. 

Soon Old Moultrie caught the signal — 

Fort beloved of Southern heart ! 
And, tho' Sumter frowned defiant, 

With loud war-note took her part ; 
And those brave m'en never faltered, 

Tho' the false and craven foe 
Late had sworn, "if once they opened, 

He would lay the Fortress low !"' 

'Tie a talc to tell our children, 

How wc eager stood to hear 
The first gun of Freedom sounding 

Grandly, proudly on the ear! 
When again our batteries open 

Seaward on the approaching foe, 
Their returning shot may bring us 

Desolation, anguish, woe. 

Yet our loved ones — wives and mothers, 

Daughters, sisters, sweethearts stand 
Ready to cheer on to glory 

Our devoted patriot band ! 
Not a heart with fear is quailing; 

Not an eye but glows with pride; 
Only those are sad whose kindred 

Still at home are forced to bide ! 

O, true-hearted, noble brother, 

Now, for you and all the brave. 
Will I kneel in suppliance lowly 

To the One who died to save ! 
May his angels camp around ye, 

May His shield be o'er ye thrown, 
And the glory of His presence 

All encircle as a zone. 



SONNET. 109 



Should ye fall, a band of martyrs, 

In the mighty cause of truth, 
May the seal of the Eedemption 

Stamp ye for eternal youth ! 
For I know the cause is holy, 

Not a doubt is in my soul ; 
And a hero is each soldier 

On our Sacred Muster Eoll ! 
Charleston, January 13th, 1861. 



Sotmjet* 



ADDRESSED TO THE HON. R. B. RHETT. 



.Rejoicing in our Freedom, it is meet 

TTe give the honor where 'tis justly due, 
And, as in antique triumphs, forth and strew 
Fresh, fragrant flowers beneath the victor's feet, 
And with exultant pseans loudly greet 

The faithful and undaunted. Many years 
. He wrestled all alone, through hopes and fears, 
His country's glorious ransom to complete. 

His State may prove forgetful, and withhold 
The robes of Office — but his patriot breast 

Beats 'neath a purer mantle — every fold 
Fraught with a blessing of enduring test, 

The love of hearts enfranchised ! All untold 
The deep serene of his well-earned rest. 

January, 1861. 



110 GREETING FOR VICTORY. 

Qvz&tmg for Wictary, 



Carolinians ! ye have answered 

To our Mother's thrilling call. 
And I love ye, oh ! my brothers ! 

Love ye dearly, one and all ; 
How my heart went forth rejoicing 

O'er each brave one as he flew 
To the rescue of that Mother, 

With high hope and purpose true. 

And our God has blessed us, brothers. 

Blessed our valor — blessed our cause, 
In a way shall make the kingdoms 

Of the whole round world to pause, 
Deep reflecting ; was there ever 

Such deliverance wrought on earth — 
So sublimely grand a pageant 

To announce a Nation's birth? 

Most resembling war of angels 

By immortal poet sung, 
Was the scene — terrific — awful — 

Now the theme of cveiy tongue : 
Carolina's bards the story 

Shall rehearse in verse sublime. 
Handing down her name of glory 

To the very verge of Time! 

Carolina ! — Glorious Mother ! 

First in wisdom — first in might — 
Blessed be the God of Heaven. 

It was thine to lead the fight ! 



GREETING FOR VICTORY. Ill 

How mine eyes have ached with watching 

For the dawning of that day ; 
It has passed — alas for hoping — 

My sad orbs drank not its ray. 

As I caught the distant thunder, 

First I trembled with affright — 
Then my bosom filled, triumphant 

With a strange and wild delight ; 
For I knew thy sons, my Mother, 

Would redeem thee on thai day, 
Pour their warm heart-blood, if needed, 

To enrich thy glorious way ! 

Carolina's sons of honor — 

Sons of glory — sons of truth, 
Would not fail her in the hour 

Of her greatest need and ruth : 
And the God of Battles thundered, 

Eolled His chariot through the sky — 
Flashed the glory of His presence, 

As He passed majestic by. 

Heard ye not the mighty rushing 

Of His seraphs as they threw 
Their strong wings, a shield of shelter 

From the war-bolts as they flew ? 
Fought He not with weapons tempered 

By His justice and His truth — 
By the side of veteran soldiers, 

And the glowing heart of youth ? — 

Honor to our chosen captains — 

To our manhood — to our youth — 
To the wisdom of our Council — 

To our valor — to our truth — 



112 GREETING FOR VICTORY. 

To our brave hearts wildly throbbing 
For their turn that stirring day, 

Like the anxious war-steed champing 
At the stern fate of dclaj^ — 

As they saw their dream of glory 

As a cloud-drift float afar, 
Eest upon the head of brother 

Like a brightly glowing star — 
Rest upon the head of brother 

Not more worthy, when all drew 
From the breast of Common Mother 

The one stream that made them true. 

Bow we all, the knee adoring, 

To Jehovah, God of Might, 
Rendering chief to Him the glory 

As is "bounden, meet and right ;" 
For His strong arm brought salvation ; 

And His hand the garland wrought 
That adorns our Mother's forehead, 

With a glory passing thought. 
April 17th, 1861. 



OUR BANNER. 113 

0ur Banner* 



FLUNG TO THE BREEZE AT LIMERICK, ST. JOHN'S BERKLEY, ON 
THE llTH OE APRIL, 1861. 



Hail to thee bright banner ! 

Floating to the sky 
Kissed by April breezes 
As they hurry by 
Amid the rosy bowers of the Spring to sigh ! 

On the eve of battle 

When a golden light 
Shot from western heaven 

Crowned this sylvan height, 
Before the star of Vesper heralded the night — 

Flung we forth our banner 

With its triple bars ; — 
Shedding rays of glory 

From its crown of stars 
Over the purple evening, rich with crystal spars. 

Soon a sylph of Faery 

From her silver sphere, 
Shed soft, balmy tear drops 
On our symbol fair : 
Fresh from this baptism Ave left it floating there ! 
10 



114 OUR BANNER. 

When our country's banner 

Next enrapt my sight, 
Like a wing of glory 
It was gleaming bright 
Over heaving ocean from mast and fortress height! 

Soon a crimson shower 

May enrich each fold ; 
And the Sun of Glory 
Shoot his rays of gold 
Adown its borders drooping over heroes cold. 

Yet we hail thee, banner ! 

Blessed of Heaven — and view 
With glad eyes, triumphant, 

Faith-fraught hearts — and true, 
Thy bright enlarging circlet, on its shield of blue ! 

Hail our own bright banner! 

From its grassy mound 
Shooting to the azure : 
While the trees around, 
Fair fields, and sparkling waters seem enchanted ground ! 



OLD MOULTRIE. 115 



The splendor falls on bannered walls 

Of ancient Moultrie, great in story ; 
And flushes now, his scar-seamed brow, 
With rays of golden glory ! 

Great in his old renown ; 
Great in the honor thrown 
Around him by the foe, 
Had sworn to lay him low ! 

The glory falls! — Historic walls 

Too weak to cover foes insulting ; 
Became a tower — a sheltering bower — 
A theme of joy exulting : 

God, merciful and great, 
Preserved the hi^h estate 
Of Moultrie, by His power. 
Through the fierce battle hour! 

The splendor fell — His banners swell 
Majestic forth to catch the shower; 
Our own loved blue receives anew * 
A rich immortal dower ! — 

Adown the triple bars 
Of its companion,-]- spars 
Of golden glory stream ; 
On seven-rayed circlet beam ! 

*The Banner of the State. 
|The Confederate Flag. 



116 a sister's farewell. 

The glory falls — but not on walls 

Of Sumter deemed "the post of duty " 
A brilliant sphere, it circles clear 
The harbor in its beauty ; 

Holding in its embrace 
The city's queenly grace ; 
Stern battery and tower, 
Of manly strength and power. 

But brightest falls on Moultrie's walls. 

Forever there to rest in glory; 
A hallowed light — on buttress height — 
Fort, beloved and hoaryl 

Rest there — and tell that faith 
Shall never suffer scath; — 
Rest there — and glow a far 
Hope's ever-beaming star! 
Charleston, May 3d, 1861. 

Note. — All lovera of poetry will know in whose liquid gold I hav< 
dipped my brush to illumine the picture. 



& Sister's Famusll 



TO J. E. P., OF THE WASHINGTON L. I. VOLS., IIAMI'TON LEGION. 



Brother ! in the strong assurance 
That our cause is just and true ; 

That the smile of Heaven is with us ; 
Give I thee, my fond adieu — 
Dearest brother! patriot ever stern and true! 



a sister's farewell. llnj> 

Not with wild throb, like our ardent 

Youthful heroes, is the beat 
Of the martial spirit stirring 

In thy heart's profound retreat; 
Years of waiting have intensified its beat! 

Silently the patriot fire 

Has been smouldering in thy breast, 
From gay youth to sturdy manhood ; 
Now it breaketh from its rest, " 
Flaming upward, like a glory-lighted crest ! 

Till thy forehead, erst so placid, 
And thine eyes' serenest blue, 
Seem enkindled with the halo 
Of its light — sublimely true 
As I bade thee, tearfully, a long adieu. 

Glowed it there — while in thy bosom, 

Whence it thus had flashed to light, 
We're deep wells of sorrow springing 
As thou badst good-by to-night — 
But such waters never quenched heroic light. 

Deep affection, for the dear ones 

Left at home, shall make it glow 
More intensely: — Brace the spirit, 
Nerve the arm — until the foe 
Shrink affrighted from each God-commissioned blow ! 

If perchance a tear drop trembled 

On mine eyelid, 'twas not fear, 
But the rush of strong emotion 
Sent it upward, hung it there, 
Gladness raying from its dewy, crystal sphere. 



118 HAMPTON LEGION. 

If one moment, for the anguish, 

My brave spirit seemed to quail, 
Trembling seized upon my members, 
And my brow began to pale — 
O forget it ! Woman's faith will never fail. 

Mighty in the strong assurance 
That the God of Love will hear; 

Passed the weakness of this hour — 

Soaring on the wing of prayer, 

Soon my spirit shall surmount the realm of fear ! 

And mine eyeballs, God anointed, 

Bright, prophetic visions see 
Of our Southern hosts returning 
Crowned with hays of victory, 
Singing praises to the One has made us/n - . 
May 31st, 1861. 



Jjampton Legion 



Go — take thy place by Valor's side : — 
Ho, Legion ! onward to the van ! 

And look! thou bearest a noble name, 
Prove each a noble man ! 

Revere thy banner — it was wrought 

By daughters of heroic sires; — 
The hand of beauty swiftly flew. 
While tear drops moistened eyes of blue. 
Or quenched in orbs of darker hue 
Their more vehement fires : 



HAMPTON LEGION. 119 

Revere it — woman's snowy breast, 
Vibrating with a strange unrest 

Of hope and fear for thee, 
Sent many a stifled sigh, prayer fraught, 
Upward upon the wing of thought 

As grew the tapistry! 
Go — beat back those whose rallying cry 
Insults our Southern chastity ! 

Our own great Davis first unfurled 

Its beauties to thine ardent gaze : 
Go — let the name beneath it won 

Fill nations with amaze ! — 
Bear it into the hottest fight, 
Where freemen battle for their right, 
Nor fear the hordes of Northern might ! 
And may its crescent's silvery sheen 
Thy beacon be — its Palm — thy screen ! 

Pass on — by Hampton led — and he 
Who wrestled for the civic crown 
With Ehett and Pickens : Great renown 
Under such chieftains mayest thou win ; 
Go — teach the hoary man of sin 
Thy prowess ! Let each belted knight, 
And every warrior of the host, 
As he assumes his sacred post, 
Feel he commission bears to fight 
For Home and Liberty ! 

Press on — encompassed as thou art 

By prayers from woman's loving heart ! 

Nor deem these sacred fires shall die ; 

In circling wreaths they mount the sky, 

Fanned by the breath of Love and Faith's reviving sigh ! 



120 HAMPTON LEGION. 

II. 

Thus sung I ere in Piedmont's vale 
The battle din had filled the gale ; 
Or Sabbath sunlight hailed the dawn 
And life-throe of a nation born 

In agony and blood ! 
Ere yet the thrilling news had sped 
That told of mighty armies fled — 
And foes all gory, cold and dead 

Upon Manassas' plain ! 
That told how freemen nobly fought, 
And countless deeds of valor wrought; 
Deeds of surpassing valor, fraught 

With light of Chivalry! 
The old historic war-harp blends 
Its music with the shout that rends 

The air for Victory ! 

Great Bee and Bartow grandly died — 
Pure Johnson fell — The Legion's pride, 
Struck down at noble Hampton's side 

At opening of the fray, 
Ere his heroic spirit caught 
The thrill of triumph — or was fraught 
With grateful homage at the thought 

Of Freedom's dawning day ! 

O Legion ! O heroic band ! 
Soul-strengthened by thy God to stand 

Unflinching 'mid the storm; 
A greater bard than I thy praise 
Shall hand far down the golden days 

That yet shall bless our land ! 



HAMPTON LEGION. 121 

A prouder and a sweeter strain 
Than any I can 'wake, thy slain 

Must lull to their repose ! — 
Mine be the thrilling note of war ! 
Ho, Southrons ! every one prepare — 

Avenge the noble dead ! 
Great Georgia bares her bleeding breast — 
Virginia sets her spear in rest, 

And waits another blow ; 
Let every Southron don his mail, 
And like the war-steed snuff the gale, 

Then rush upon the foe ! 
Go take his place by heroes' side, 
And where the war-nooks open wide 

Step in with dauntless tread ! 

Baptized for the dead — go then, 
A band of Heaven-anointed men, 

And fill our vacant flanks — 
As in the early Days of Grace, 
The Christian warriors filled each space 

Cleft in their martyr ranks ; 
So may confessors for our creed, 
By thousands from its blood-red seed 
Spring for their country's now, as then the Church's need. 
Charleston, August 3d, 1861. 

11 



122 STRIKE THE HARP. 



Strihs \\\t$ Harp, 



A HYMN OF PRAISE FOR A BROTHER'S SAFETY AT "THE BATTLE 
OF MANASSAS," SUNDAY, JULY 21ST, 1861. 



Strike the harp to God Eternal ; 

Strike the harp of sweetest string; 
With a song of holy triumph 

Let the Southern welkin ring ! 
Let the women and the children 

To their household altars hie, 
And around their sacred fires 

Chant the song of Victory ! 

Let each hosom bring the gladness, 

Or the sorrow if it be — 
For alas ! our hymn of triumph 

Chimes no bloodless victory — 
Let it all be humbly offered 

To our Saviour and our God, 
That the hand of Love and Mercy 

May remove the chastening rod. 

God, I thank Thee for the answer 

Thou hast granted to my prayer ; 
For the shield of Thy protection 

Thrown above my brother dear: 
By thy strong right arm supported 

Safely through the storm he passed. 
While brave comrades fell around him, 

Stricken by the battle blast. 



STRIKE THE HARP. 123 

In the fore-front of the battle, 

Where the valiant fought, he stood, 
Where the slaughter and the carnage 

Rolled a horrid red-sea flood ! 
Swift the hot bolts flew around him — 

But protected by Thy might, 
Father ! he has passed uninjured 

Through the sharp and deadly fight. 

God, I thank thee for the calmness 

Thou imparted'st to his breast, 
Filling it with holy purpose 

Nobly there, to do his best — 
To uphold the cause of Freedom, 

Constitution, Honor, Truth — 
With the valor of his manhood — 

With the yet warm fire of youth. 

Kindling then with deep emotions, 

Let his kindred offer praise ; 
Pour out floods of grateful feeling 

To the One of Ancient Days ; 
Let us each with hearts adoring 

Bow before the Throne of Love, 
And our own peculiar blessing 

Waft, on j^rayerful sigh, above ! 

O may this, so great salvation, 

Thrill each heart, and fill each eye ; 
Till with one great voice the nation 

Eender God the Yictory ! 
Till we own, with faith adoring, 

Thee, the mighty Lord of Hosts, 
As the God of our redemption; 

Father, Son and Holy Ghost. 
August 4th, 1861. 



124 DAUGHTERS OF THE SOUTHERN QUEEN. 

daughters of the Southern Queen 



Aged mothers of our city, 

Matrons in the pride of life ; 
Maidens, like fair roses glowing 

In our sunny bowers ; and wife, 
Newly led from holy altar 

Where you gave the plighted vow, 
With the orange-blossoms trembling 

Yet, above your virgin brow : 
Hear ye not the wild-waves surging 

Onward in their awful roar ? 
God ! — the foemen are upon us ! — 

Hark ! their footsteps tread our shore ! 

Long the warder* from the tower 

Shouted "danger is anear" — 
But we passed on careless — reckless — 

Turning all a deafened ear : 
And our leaders dreamed " the cowards 

Would not brave our armed host !" — 
Lo ! their ships in countless numbers 

Thunder now along the coast ! 
Charleston ! — Bright and peerless city 

Our own darling, joy and pride ! 
Is it true the fierce invader 

Comes against thee, as a tide 
Of polluted waters, rushing — 

Dashing onward to defile 
Carolina's fairest daughter 

And her agony revile ? 

* Charleston Mercury. 



DAUGHTERS OF THE SOUTHERN QUEEN. 125 

They have broke upon our threshold, 

And our braves as rock have stood, 
Firm — undaunted in their spirit 

And received the tainted flood : 
Fierce it came — and hot its fury, 

Heated with the breath of Hell — 
Dashed in madness o'er their bosoms — 

'Neath the shock our heroes fell. 



Fell — but left a name undying — 

Let us drop a sacred tear 
On their cold and mangled corses 
Ere our war-cry rend the air — 
By Port Royal ! to avenge them now we swear. 

O ! not yet our queenly city 

Shalt thou totter to thy fall, 
For our bravest and our dearest 

Form around a living wall : 
And with arms close locked, and bosoms 

Bared will meet the insulting foe, 
Perish all ere foul dishonor 

Cause thy matron cheek to glow ! 

Sisters ! 'tis no wild alarum 

I am sounding in your ear ; 
I would draw ye by my spirit 

'Bove the tide mark of despair : 
I would banish from your bosoms 

Every thought could make ye — pale ; 
What ! would let the vile intruder 

Deem that Southern women quail ! 



126 " DIE HERE." 

No by Heaven ! A sign of weakness 
Must not rest on cheek or brow, 

Let the falling drops of anguish 
Turn to sparks of fiery glow ! 

Show no fear — but all in meekness 
Seek the Temple of your God — 

Low before his footstool kneeling 
Kiss the hand that bares the rod ; 

Bow your hearts, until He answers 
With a smile shall part the shroud, 

Whence the Light of Heaven streaming- 
Gilds the fringes of the cloud. 
November 12th, 1861. 



" me 3^™: 



DEDICATED TO THE ARMY OF THE CONFEDERATE STATES 



"If we determine to die here" — 

Thus rang the words in accents clear 

From lips of the heroic Bee, 

The flower of Southern chivalry ! — 

"Lo! Jackson like a Stonewall stands — 

Come on, once more, my trusty bands, 

Whom only numbers could force back 

From the blood-marked, immortal track, 

Where hundreds fell beneath thy stroke, 

And with sharp cries of anguish 'woke 

The echoes of the battle plain ; — 

Come on, brave Comrades ! once again — 

If we determine to die here 

We conquer — let us on — and dare." 



" DIE HERE." 127 

O that these words were graven deep 
On every Southern heart ! I weep 
To see how oft we retrograde, 
When glorious stand had sure been made 
Had we heroic souls. Die here — 
It is the only way whene'er 
We meet the proud, insulting hate 
Of foes vindictive ; — Bide our fate, 
Yea, spring to it with hearts of fire, 
And trust in God — He will inspire 
Our patriot souls — and tho' we lie 
Stiff on the bloody field — His eye 
Shall beam approval from on High ! 

Here — while a mother's blessing rests 
Dove-like upon our manly breasts — 
While wife's embrace — or sister's tear — 
Or daughter's love — or maiden's — dear, 
Far dearer than a daughter's — cling 
And cluster round our hearts, and bring 
Sweet memories of home — and sound 
Of merry laughter floats around 
As from our little ones — strike free, 
And fling the battle-cry of Bee 
Up to the welkin — and the Heavenly sphere, 
Shall echo back the glorious words — Die Here! 
March 22± 1862. 



128 THE FAIRY FESTIVAL. 

Ths Fairy Fsstiual. 



DEDICATED TO THE FAIR VOCALISTS OF THE CONCERT.* 



What magic scene is here ! 
Bellona can the waving of thy spear 
Call up enchantment on the field of Death? 

Fling o'er the blood-stained heath 
Garlands of beauty ? — bid the clarion note 

Of war afar to float, 

And sweet serial measure 

Fill every heart with pleasure ? 
Lo ! forms of fairy 
Come tripping in with motion airy, 

And part to left and right, 

Fair girlhood ! bright 
With promise of the glorious days to be, 
When Carolina, great in Liberty, 

Shall send her name afar, 
And for the darkened world the gate of light unbar! 

Bright flowers are these, and jewels which our Queen 
Wears not on robes of State, but near her heart ; 
Not to be plucked from thence by hand of war, 
And weeping captives led behind the conqueror's car! 

Now one by one three half-blown roses rise 

And charm our eager eyes : 
Can Northern gardens show such lovely flowers 

As these, by silvery showers 

* Given in aid of the building of a gunboat for the protection of 
Charleston. 



THE FAIRY FESTIVAL. 129 

And golden sun-shafts drawn 
From bosom of the fair and fragrant South ? 
Hark ! from each rose is heard, 
The voice as of a bird ! 
One singing forth in gladness — one in woe 
With plaint note, sweet and low ; 
One rousing us to deeds of high emprise, 
Worthy to win a smile from those sweet loving eyes ! 



The first rose flung a joy 
From her pure heart, in which was no alloy 
Of pain and sadness — with a careless glee, 
As glad child singing by its mother's knee, 
Gushed forth the witching richness of each note 

Upon the air to float, 
And find its way to every worthy soul 
In reach of its control ;— 
God-gifted ! may her heart be ever clear, 
And mount as it does now towards the heavenly sphere ! 



The second fairy flower 

Bore from her natal bower 
A sister bud, aye clinging to her side ; 

Each of their homes the pride — 

Where culture rich and rare 

Had blessed these blossoms fair, 
Making them meet to bear their gifted part 

In festival of art, 
And altar of their bleeding country dower 

With perfume from their bower ! — 

From heart of this fair rose, 

A thrill of pain — and throes 



130 THE FAIRY FESTIVAL. 

As from the bosom of a great despair — 
Not thine be fate so drear — 
But guardian spirits ward each shaft of pain, 
And on thy earthly path celestial blessings rain ! 

The third rose springs to view ! 

La Sylphide ! with the morning dew 

Still clinging to her silken vest ! 
Can the heroic muse find fitting nest 

In that soft, fragrant breast ! — 

She sings — the spirit of her race 
Glows in the blushing beauty of her face ; 

Speaks in her dewy eyes, 
Lifted in holy fervor to the skies 

In prayer for our loved land ; 
And that old kingly anthem — holy, grand — 
Has kept a mighty nation — faithful — true, 
Thrilled to our heart of hearts and nerved our souls 
anew ! 

\ 

And France's hot war note 

From clarion wont to float, 
Stirring the heart to madness ; — music-fire, 
Setting the soul aflame with wrathful ire — 
Came tempered of its heat, 
And made an anthem meet 
For our most holy cause — as from her throat 
Poured the rich treasure of each stirring note, 
Calling the brave to arms ! God grant that they 
Take fire from that young heart and instantly obey. 
Charleston, March 2#h, 1862. 



SONNET — U A SWELL OF MUSIC." 131 



ADDRESSED TO JAMES SIMONS, ESQ., ON HIS COMPLIMENTING THE 
AUTHOR OF THE FAIRY FESTIVAL WITH CHAUCER'S " CANTER- 
BURY TALES." 



The father of sweet Poesy to me ! — 

To me — who hardly deem myself his child, 

But some rude changeling chanting on the wild 

Where he has dropped a bud. Not given free 

To rove his garden with the honey bee, 

Or ravished butterfly ! like them beguiled 

From odorous flower to flower ; but sad exiled 

From where the warbling birds hold jubilee. — 

Gift, more inspiring to my timid note 

Than the soft breath of Spring perfumed with flowers, 

Or the rich gush of melody afloat 

Upon the sunny air, while joyous hours 

Haste on with winged feet to where the mote 

Sports in the sunbeam of the Summer bowers. 



"A Swell of music." 



ADDRESSED TO PAUL H. HAYNE, AFTER READING HIS BEAUTIFUL 
POEM " MY MOTHER LAND." 



A swell of music from the grand old sea 1— 
O what a thrill of joy it sent through me 
As it went sweeping by ! — As when we lave 
Our bodies in old Ocean's tide, the wave 



132 "A SWELL OF MUSIC." 

Braces and thrills as it breaks o'er our head ; 
Whilst we expect another half in dread, 
Half mad with wild delight — O thus to me 
Comes up this mystic music from the sea ! * 

Night after night from out my eastern bower 
When stormy tempests lower; 

And when the sea 
Lies charmed beneath the moon's soft witchery, 
Have I leant forth to meet it ; and it seems 
Whether borne on by storm- wing, or the beams 
Of silvery moonlight, to float up from where 
Proud Sumter lifts his grand, defiant head 

From Ocean's dark, deep bed, 
Filling the watching foe with a vague, secret dread. 

Is some prophetic bard enchained there 

Wild ; old-world music in him ? On his brow 

Wearing the classic laurel, even now, 

In this degenerate age ? List to that strain 

As it rolls onward with its rich refrain, 

11 My Mother Land " — Sure it should stir each breast 

To noble daring — rouse from sluggard sleep 

Each laggard son, causing him set in rest 

His burnished spear 

And for that mother dear 
Do battle to the death — or ere she weep 
Over their degradation, and her fall 

Beneath the Northern thrall. 

"My Mother Land," 

Strain wild and grand, 
Sweep on — from ocean bright to mountain hoary, 
Till every heart throbs to the theme of glory ; 

*Mr. Hayne was on duty at Fort Sumter. 



SONNET. 133 

And patriot choirs 
Chant the great deeds of their heroic sires ! 

■ Then "Mother Land" 
Shall see her heroes, one vast, serried band, 
Drive the insulting host, 
Now spread along her coast, 
Down to the depths of the devouring sea, 
Whose floods will lift their voice and shout forth Vic- 
tory ! 



Sorm^t, 



TO PAUL H. HAYNE. 



Music as from the bosom of the sea ! 

With what a solemn and mysterious sweep 

It booms up from old Ocean ! I could weep, 

But that the strain majestic seems to free 

The spirit from all weakness. A music key 

Struck near some instrument awakes a sound 

Of kindred harmony, thus the rebound 

From our charmed hearts with those grand notes agree. 

True minstrel ! pure from every envious strain 

That sullies meaner souls ! Still strike thy lyre, 

And send its notes triumphant o'er the main, 

To make each faltering, timid heart aspire 

And throb for mighty deeds. Thy thrilling strain 

Methinks might set the coldest breast on fire. 



134 THE LENTEN FAST OF 1862. 

The &$nten Fast of 1862, 



PUBLISHED TO AID IN THE PURCHASE OF BIBLES, PRAYER BOOKS 
AND TRACTS FOR THE CONFEDERATE SOLDIERS. 



It is the solemn season when the Church 

Puts off her beauteous garments, and with head 

Bowed as a bulrush, weeps her sins, and calls 

Unto her children to come up and keep 

The Holy Convocation ; day by day, 

Before the Mercy Seat, tell out their sins, 

With fasting, and with weeping, and with sighs: 

To rend their hearts, and not their garbs, and turn 

To the most gracious and long-suffering God, 

Who throned upon the circle of the Earth, 

In awful state immutable, yet hears 

And turns Him to His people and repents, 

Leaving a blessing where he vowed a curse ! 

No mortal intellect, however vast 

Its compass and expansion, can make clear 

And bring to light the hidden things of God ; 

No mortal eye reach this mysterious height, 

How the Unchangeable keeps His decree, 

Yet rolls away His judgment at our prayers. 

But hark ! methinks the trumpet sends a call 
More solemn than 'twas wont. The women troop 
By crowds into the Temple, and bow down 
With an unusual reverence — every heart 
Seems ladened with a sorrow — every face 



THE LENTEN FAST OF 1862. 135 

Wears on its front a coronal of pain 
With resolution to endure the sting. 
And here and there a venerable head 
Bows his time-silvered locks before his God, 
And from his heart sends up a cry for help. 

The Priests before the Altar stand and weep, 

Assailing Heaven with unwonted force — 

" Lord spare Thy people, give not to reproach 

This, Thine inheritance — To vandal rule 

Give them not Father! lest the nations say 

Where, where their God — and think that they are made 

The refuse, and off-scouring of the earth ! 

This Church and People humbly kneel and cry — 

Accept of their contrition — hear them Lord ! 

O, Thou who wept o'er Salem plead for us ! 

Now weeping for our country bathed in blood, 

And hedged about by the exultant foe ! 

Stir up thy strength Jehovah, come and help, 

We put our trust entirely in Thee — 

Bare Thy right arm — and let Thine angel guard 

Keep watch and ward around our peaceful homes ; 

Humbly we look up, Father, unto Thee, 

And say that we have done these men no wrong — 

Take Thou our righteous cause into Thy hand 

And judge between us — let the Kingdoms see 

That the Almighty is the God of Truth : 

We ask it not for merit of our own, 

For we are weak and erring — prone to sin — 

But for the sake of Thine Anointed One — 

Our High Priest and Eedeemer — Christ the Lord ! " 

Then take the Ministers the Book of God, 
And from that sacred treasury bring forth 



136 THE LENTEN FAST OF 1862. 

Things, new and old, to strengthen and refresh ; 
And by their holy counsel and their faith, 
Make firm our hope, and tell us where to look, 
In this our day of darkness, for the Light. 

O fainting heart ! O wavering, doubting faith ! 
Up to the Temple and find comfort there ! 

Thus weeps the Church and Nation — closer we 

Draw, in the inner chamber of our souls, 

To our Eedeemer — and like Mary sit 

In humble resignation at His feet, 

To catch His words of comfort and of love. 

Or nearer yet with the Beloved one rest 

Upon the bosom of the Son of Man 

Oar aching brow, and hear the great life throb 

Of His true, human heart! Or, in this storm — 

From off this heaving and tempestuous sea, 

Whence we to Him are calling in affright — 

Like Peter take the offered hand and feel 

The warm, strong pressure of His friendly grasp 

Drawing us from the billow — with him own 

The present God in the still, sudden calm. 

O let us lay our bosoms bare to One 
Who was in all points tempted like to us, 
Yet without taint of sin : The man of grief 
Will catch our tears and offer them on High, 
All mingled with His blood. Our earnest prayers 
Within His censer thrown oar Great High Priest 
Shall wave before the Mercy Seat, and fling 
The fragrance of their incense up to God ! 

We are indeed encircled by a flame 

As fiery as the tongues that lapped around 



ALARUM. 137 

The children in the furnace ! May the One, 
Like to the Son of G-od be with us there ; — 
Then, " the moist whistling wind " shall softly blow, 
And temper so the heat that we shall chant 
Like them our song of triumph — and call on 
The Universe to magnify our Lord ! 

Like Esther's people we have been consigned 
And given up to Death, but let us draw 
With "humble boldness" near our King, and He 
Shall tender to us the sceptre of His grace, 
Filling our hearts with confidence and hope ; 
And tho' we must stand firm, and fight for life, 
Yet will He bless the issue — and then comes 
Our day of triumph — and our feast of Joy ! 



Jtlarum. 



The cry is still they come." 



'Tis borne upon the Southern breeze 

" The foe ! the foe ! they come "— 
It surges through the forest trees — 

And in the city's hum 
It mingles with the voice of trade ; 

And e'en the sacred Fane 
Where we bow down to worship G-od 

Prolongs the startling strain. 



138 ALARUM. 

The startling strain — Our women weep 

And wring their hands in fear ; 
And e'en our sturdy-hearted men 

Seem bowed with anxious care : — 
O ye, whose dearest have gone forth 

To meet the battle shock, 
Hie to the sheltering wing outspread 

And to the riven Eock. 

Nor deem that I have none to lose 

In this soul-stirring strife, 
Because I lack the sacred names 

Of Mother and of wife ! — 
Not high upon the roll of Fame 

Are they, my darling ones, 
Yet Carolina owns them all 

As her devoted sons ! 

One is a brother dear as life, 

No craven soul bears he — 
One almost as a brother dear, 

With youthful comrades three ; 
These all on old Virginia's soil 

Wait, harnessed in the field, 
" Sic semper " have they each engraved 

Upon his burnished shield. 

And I have those grown as sons 

Beneath my maiden ken, 
To the bright flush of youthful hope, 

And prime estate of men ; 
And one whom we can scarce restrain 

From gory battle-field ; 
These all our own Palmetto bear 

Emblazoned on their shield ! 



A sister's thanksgiving. 139 

Then shout " Noli me tangere " 

Tho' we be forced to hie 
To covert of our mountain caves, 

And lowland swamps — or die — 
Yea die — before we dare disgrace 

The motto of our shield, 
Or more of Carolina's soil 

As bloodless trophy yield — 

To vandals, who already have 

Too firm a footing here : — 
O give us strength Almighty One 

To conquer ; — Father spare 
This city where the light of Truth 

First beamed a beacon ray. 
Let not that light go down in night, 

But glow to perfect day. 
Charleston, 30th April, 1862. 



& Sister's Thanksgiving* 



AFTER THE BATTLE OF SEVEN PINES. 



Once again with heart adoring 
Would I bow before thy throne 

Dread Jehovah ! God of Battles, 
And Thy sovereign Mercy own ; 

Thou hast saved him, 
Saved my brother — thou alone ! 



140 A sister's thanksgiving. 

Through the forest, in the gloaming, 
To the charge the Legion sped, 

With a shout that waked the echoes 
To wild music overhead — 

Back recoiling, 
Left they many a warrior dead. 

For the foe was strongly posted, 
And the night came on apace, 

O for one more hour of sunlight! 
O for one short hour of grace ! 

But no Joshua 
Sought for them Jehovah's face. 

Fierce again they charge — the Legion ! * 
Soon its bravest stricken lie ; — 

At thy side a loved companionf 
Gave a low pathetic sigh, 

Ere his spirit 
Mounted to its native sky. 

Just before his voice heroic 

Had been cheering on the fight, 

Now no more the din of battle 
Eeaches where his soul, in light, 

Bests forever 
In the Saviour's loving sight. 

God, who took thy youthful comrade, 
Spared thee brother — spread His shield 

O'er thy head again in battle 
As on hot Manassas' field : — 

Heart adore Him, 
And thy grateful tribute yield. 

* Hampton's. f Richard Yeadon, Jr. 



YOUTHFUL HEROES. 141 

Yet withal rejoice with trembling 

For through many a bloody fight 
Mast thy dear one pass, or ever 
He rejoice thy longing sight ; 

Sigh submissive, 
" God, Thou doest all things right." 
Charleston, June 9th, 1862. 



f autWul Harass, 



LINES SUGGESTED BY THE LAMENTED DEATH OF LIEUTENANT 
J. E. M'PHERSON WASHINGTON. 



War has lis horrors : — but as well 

It has its glorious tales to tell, 

Which cause our bosoms thrill and swell. 

How many would have toiled for aye 
To Life's last dim, allotted day, 
Without one deed to mark their way — 

But for the clarion blast that flew, 
From seaboard to our mountains blue, 
Calling upon the brave and true — 

To arm them in defence of right, 
Their sacred homes — their altars bright 
With fires from God's most Holy Height. 

Our plodding men of middle age 
Dreamed not to live in History's page, 
Or leave a golden heritage ! 



142 YOUTHFUL HEROES. 

How many youths of noble name 
Lived in the glory of the same ; 
Mere copies in the antique frame. 

Now very boys start up to greet 
War's mighty presence; and with feet 
That should have sought their mother — meet 

Grim Death on battle-field — and go, 
Strengthened by Freedom's generous glow, 
Exulting forth to brave the foe. 

And thou ivert young — yet of an age 
. By Eutaw's streaming light, to gage 
Thy life against fanatic rage ! 

And Nature in heroic mould 

Had cast thy brave and ardent soul, 

Too soon, alas ! to reach its goal. 

Too soon for Love — but not for Fame, 

Already had its loud proclaim 

Gone forth, " He gilds a noble name." 

O gallant youth ! We sow in grief, 
Yet after waiting-season brief — 
Shall wave on high the golden sheaf! 

Affection waters with her tear, 
The laurels on thy youthful bier, 
And binds the rose of promise there ! 

In the fair Land beyond the gloom, 
Thy spirit in immortal bloom, 
Awaits its partner from the tomb. 



IN MEMORY OF RICHARD YEADON, JR. 143 

There too thy mother to her heart 
Shall fold her loved one, ne'er to part ; 
And G-ilead's balm heal every smart ! 
Charleston, September 9th, 1861. 



in Wlem&vy of B^hard f sadan, $v. 



WHO FELL AT THE BATTLE OF SEVEN PINES, MAY 31, 1862- 



Father ! while other hearts are wrung, 
Mine is but slightly touched with pain — 
What shall I render for the love 

Has visited again? 
The tear of gratitude — then turn 
To those whose bosoms sadly yearn 
O'er loved ones they no more shall see, 
And prove my heartfelt thanks to Thee 
By acts of tender sympathy. 

Ah ! there are eyes that weep for one 
Whose future seemed traced out in light ;- 
That glow of promise faded soon, 
And vanished into night. 
As when from bower of the morn 
The Sun shoots forth his golden horn, 
And gives us earnest of a day 
Shall send rejoicing on their way 
Earth's weary pilgrims — then arise 
Clouds that obscure him from our eyes ; 
Thus thine uprising, and thy fate, 
O brave, ingenuous youth ! who late 



144 IN MEMORY OF RICHARD YEADON, JR. 

Shed life and light on all around, 

On dreary march, or camping bound, 

And in the hearts of tent-mates brave 

Kindled a flame of love shall burn beyond the grave ! 

But is the sun forever gone 
When dreary clouds obscure his beaming ? 
No — he burns on behind the veil — 
And from beyond thy soul is streaming 
Bright rays of promise and of peace — 
And those rich rays shall ne'er decrease, 
But brighten and expand — and glow 
Forever in that realm where woe 
Comes not — where there is no more night ; 
But Christ and His redeemed give Light. 

Heroic youth ! He gave his life 
An offering to his country's shrine — 
Then let us drop the note of woe 

And rose and laurel twine 
Into a garland shall express 
His chivalry and tenderness ! 

All day the battle raged — and now 
Soft twilight falls on wood and field — 
But bloodier work must yet be done, 

Yon battery must yield ! 
" Charge, Legion, through the forest drear " — 
The chieftain's words drew forth responsive cheer on 
cheer ! 

Urging his comrades to the fight 
His voice rang silvery and clear, 
And mingled with the din of war — 

And on the evening air 
Floated — until a gentle sigh 
Hushed it in a profound — " Good-by." 



SONNET. 145 

Farewell ! Though it may not be ours 

To deck thy bier with fragrant flowers; 

Or e'en to know thy place of rest 

In the great Mother's silent breast ; 

Or ever see the budding grass 

Waved by Spring breezes as they pass 

Over thy rustic grave — or hear 

The wild birds singing sweetly there : 

Yet leave we trustingly to G-od 

Thy mortal part — until the sod 

Gives up its dead — then with a glow 

More beautiful than battle fire, 

Shalt thou spring forth, and join the choir 

Of martyrs who rejoicing go, 

Where sits the Prince of Peace upon His throne ; 

Where sound of war shall cease, and sorrow be unknown I 



Sonnet* 



DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF SERGEANT HAMETT, OF HAMPTON 
LEGION, WHO FELL IN THE BATTLE OF THE SEVEN PINES. 



Kind, unknown Friend! — and thou too in the wood 
Of Chickahominy gave up thy life j 
A hero Martyr in the sacred strife 
For Freedom ! Tidings sad and rude 
To fall on loving hearts that daily brood 
Over thy long, long absence. One afar 
Sheds silent sorrowing tears for thee — the star 
Struck from their firmament. Thy generous mood, 
13 



146 A CHAPLET. 

From ample garner of thy noble breast, 

Gave with no stinted measure words to cheer 

A heart too often troubled with unrest, 

To find its music, floating on the air, 

Wake no harmonic chord. O grief oppressed ! 

That heart shall miss the orb that lit thy sphere. 



$. Ehaplst, 



FOR THE GRAVE OF EDWARD MYDDLETON GOODWYN. ALL BAIlTT'fl 
DAY, NOVEMBER 1, 1862. 



Heart cheering morn ! affection's tear 

Glows with a radiance heavenly clear 

To hail thy dawning ! Saints below 

Commune with those above — and go 

To deck their graves with flowers ! Here 

A garland of rich hues — and there 

One of white rosebuds — there again 

A fair lone blossom, moist with rain 

From a fond, broken heart. The air 

Seems fragrant with the breath of prayer, 

Floating towards the golden sphere, 

To mingle with the songs that rise 

Forever from that Paradise. 

Where spirits of our loved are winging 

Their happy flight, and earthward flinging 

Some fragments of the rapturous joy 

Filling their blood- washed souls with bliss beyond alio}' ! 



A CHAPLET. 147 

And thou art with them, noble boy ! 
The loved of many hearts, the joy 
And sun of the home-circle, where 
Thy stricken parents bend in prayer 

For strength to bear the blow 

That laid their darling low ; 
Yea, Grace to bear 
The threefold blast 

That o'er their Eden passed 
And stripped it of its blossoms — leaving drear 

A region erst so fair! 
Two have been gathered unto sweet repose 
Where the warm Southern sun his radiance throws 
Full on their couches — while 'neath Western skies 
Another calmly sleeps till God shall bid him rise ! 

I have no cherished bud to lay, 

Bright youth ! upon thy bed of clay — 

The garden walk is far away 

Where last we parted ; and I brought 

!N"o flowerets thence but those of thought 

And memory, which now I weave 

Into a chaplet rude, and leave 

To perish on thy grave. The flower 

I gave thee in that parting hour 

Long since has withered. Emblem meet 

Of thine own passage, bright and fleet 

From beauty to decay ; — Where now the hope 
That thy life's bud would bloom and ope 

Into a perfect flower ! The rainbow dream 
That saw thy noon of manhood beam 

With light of genius, latent in thine eye 

Then veiled with drooping lash and adolescence shy. 



148 THE STANDARD-BEARER. 

Our wish for thee was earthly fame — 
God traced, with pen of light, thy name 
Within the Eook of Life, and there 
Set to His seal — " Salvation's heir!" — 
O Love, surpassing mortal thought ! — 
O wonder of redemption, wrought 
By the Eternal Son and brought 
Home to the soul by influence sweet 
Of the life-giving Paraclete! 
Cease sorrowing tears, O cease to flow! 
Change, change our suppliant notes of woe 
To songs of triumph ! Let our joy abound, 
For this our precious one, searched out and found 
By the good Shepherd, and upon His breast 
Borne to His Father's home — the fold of Heavenly Reef 



The Standard-Bearer, 



"Written when in anxious suspense as to the fate of Charles 
Bernard Foster, who was wounded in the engagement on the 
Weldon and Petersburg Railroad, on the 21st of August, 1864, 
while carrying the " colors" of his regiment, the Twenty-seventh 

s. c. y. 

It is a strange coincidence that these lines were composed the 
day of his death, September 17th, 1864. 

Say didst thou bear them proudly boy 

All through the deadly fray, 
Without one quiver of affright 

Or waver of dismay ! — 



THE STANDARD-BEARER. 149 

Calmly and bravely pressing on 

Through the dense fiery hail, 
As if thy form had been encased 

In panoply of mail ! 

" The Colors " waving o'er thy head ; 

Thy grey eye lit with ire, 
As when the Eagle concentrates 

Within his orb the fire, 
That burns within his eager breast 

When an intruder dares 
To scale his eyrie's peaceful height, 

His home of hopes and cares. 

If so, I cannot weep thy fate, 

But gladly cry " well done " 
Thou darling of my yearning heart. — 

My sister's first-born son ! 
" Well done " — tho' death should be the meed 

Attendant on thy fall — 
No gentle spirit hovering near — 

No Mother at thy call. 

We know how cool and calmly thou 

Hast stood in many a fight ; 
And when those deadly shells were hurled 

At Sumter's crumbling height, 
How, with heroic comrades three, 

Thou stoodst unshaken there, 
And nailed the banner to the staff 

While Ocean caught the cheer — 

That from exultant hearts went up 

In chorus bold and free, 
As once again the starry cross 

Waved proudly o'er the sea ; 



150 THE STANDARD-BEARER. 

How — as the curling smoke- wreaths part 

And show the dauntless band,* 
Admiring comrades flung the shout 

Resounding to the land! 

Ah me ! the heroic thrill is past — 

My woman's heart once mpre, 
Sinks — as a wrecked hope drifted up 

And stranded on the shore — 
Into the yielding sands of Care, 

Where moaning night-winds sigh, 
And Ocean's verberating boom 

Sounds on Eternally! 

For none can tell us of thy fate — 

None know if Life or Death, 
Or, warms thee with its genial heat, 

Or. chills with icy breath! 
If still thy guileless, loving heart 

In languish m en t beats on ; 
Or, thy freed spirit floats in light 

Above the starry zone ! 

None know — Submissively we bow 

To kiss the chastening rod ; — 
Remove, in thy good time, the cloud 

That veils his fate O God ! 
Pour light though it be but to show 

Him lost forever here ; . 
Remove the darkness and the doubt — 

The ebbing Hope and Fear. 

* Note. — James Tupper, who first saw the fall of the banner, and flew 
to its rescue, assisted by C. B. Foster, W. C. Buckheister and A. J. Bluett, 
all of the Twenty-seventh Regiment, S. C. V., commanded by Colonel 
Gaillard. 



A FAREWELL. 151 



&. Farewell, 



TO A YOUTHFUL SOLDIER ON" HIS EIGHTEENTH BIRTHDAY, OCTOBER 
12TH, 1864. 



Farewell dear Harry, once again 

Thou goest to meet the foe, 
On Old Yirginia's blood-soaked plains 

And valleys, where the low 
And plaintive note of woman's wail 
With strains seolian fill the gale, 
And ghosts of heroes wander pale 

And beckon to the fight. 

Go — for behold the rose of health 

Is blushing on thy cheek ; 
And pulses that a month ago 

Were languishingly weak, 
ISTow with a full and vigorous beat, 
Tell that the warm blood courses fleet, 
Through artery and vein, to greet 

The heart's new throb of Life. 

Xo longer from thy lip and brow 

We wipe the beaded dew ; 
The love-light sparkles yet again 

Within thine eye of blue j 
Thy wounds all healed, thy fever fled, 
Firm and elastic falls thy tread, 
We would not keep thee here tho' dread 

Attends the parting hour. 



152 A FAREWELL. 

For mourn we not thy brother Charles 

Now held in captive thrall, 
Without one kindred spirit near 

To heed his plaintive call ; 
Shorn of a limb he bleeding lies, 
The pain-film dimming his dear eyes, 
No loved one by to sympathize, 
Or wipe his clammy brow ! 

Let not his mournful fate appal — 
Thy Country needs thine arm ; 

And may thy mother's God, and mine 
Keep thee from every harm ; 

In battle's fierce and fiery hour 

Be thy protecting shield and tower; 

In loathsome trench a sheltering bower 
Above thy youthful head ! 

Go — and aquit thee as before, 
Shame men who keep away ; 

Thou brave boy-veteran whose years 
Cycle eighteen to-day ! — 

And may the Everlasting Arm, 

Encircling, shield from every harm ; 

God's Pure and holy spirit calm 
And hallow this farewell. 



THE PURE-HEARTED. 153 



Dedicated to the memory of the friends and cousins Isaac Ball 
Gibbs and Charles Bernard Foster, who received their death 
wounds in the bloody fight on the Weldon and Petersburg Kail- 
road, on the 21st of August, 1864, members of Hagood's Brigade, 
which suffered so terribly on that fatal field. 

I. B. Gibbs, of Company B, Twenty-fifth Regiment S. C. V., 
after hours of intense agony, is supposed to have expired during 
the night — exchanging the toil and turmoil of war for a glorious 
eternity. A true soldier of the Cross and of his country ; he died 
in his 24th year, leaving the odor of a good name and a life of 
sanctity. 

C. B. Foster, of Company D, Twenty-seventh Eegiment S. C. V., 
after passing unscathed through many battles, in all of which he 
had been noted for coolness and intrepidity, while gallantly bear- 
ing the "colors " of his regiment, on the eventful 21st of August, 
fell wounded in the wrist and foot; and after suffering amputa- 
tion of the latter and enduring weeks of anguish, expired at the 
Sickles Hospital, Alexandria, Virginia, on the 17th of September, 
aged 21 years, 10 months and 4 days. " Loveable and full of 
promise," his pure and guileless spirit passed from the bed of suf- 
fering to the bosom of his God. 

" Lovely and pleasant in their lives ;" 
In their death they were not divided. 



Jesus, The Word Divine, has said 

The pure in heart shall see 
The beauty of His Father's face, 

Its glorious majesty : 
And who so pure, so free from stain 
As these, whose memories remain 
As precious perfume poured around, 
To bless and sanctify the ground 
Where their beloved forms shall nevermore be found ! 



154 THE PURE-HEARTED. 

"Lovely and pleasant in their lives" — 

Kindred in blood and thought, 
ISTone with a more heroic zeal 

Freedom's stern battle fought : 
The dreary march, the loathsome trench, 
Disease and hunger, naught could quench 
The patriotic fire that grew 
Intensely in their hearts, and threw 
A glow and warmth around which kept the wavering 

true. 

With minds contemplative and grave 

They loved, in classic bower, 
"With sages of the mighty Past 

To commune hour by hour ; 
Sitting attentive at their feet, 
They learnt of them a wisdom meet 
To strengthen and expand the soul, 
And give the intellect control 
O'er youthful passions warm, and elevate the whole. 

And one from yet a higher source 

Drew wisdom — bending low 
At foot of the Redeemer's cross 

"Whence streams of Healing flow ; 
And we had hoped to see him bear 
That Balm of Healing thence — with prayer 
Applying it to hearts that bleed; 
To sinners in their hour of need ; 
The Great Physician's friend — the preacher of His Creed. 

And not far distant from the goal 

Where Jesus holds the prize, 
Our younger Aspirant was seen 

With thoughtful — Heaven-set eyes ; 



THE PURE-HEARTED. 155 

Tho' others passed him in the race, 
His was the firm, unwavering pace : — 
E'en in the Camp's tumultuous bound 
The evidence of truth he found, 
Sought out with careful zeal in some retired ground. 

On the same fiery field they fell — 

The marytrs we have given, 
From children of our hearts and Aomes, 

To swell the band in Heaven ! — 
After brief hours of agony 
One closed, in hope, his languid eye ; 
The other by long days of pain 
Made perfect, found in dying — gain ; 
Leaving the toils of war for Jesus' peaceful reign. 

O would we bring our martyrs back 

From that serene repose ; 
Or pluck the sparkling laurel wreath 

From their heroic brows ? 
Oh no ! we glory in their fate 
Although our hearts are desolate ; 
And in our ear, with saddest tone, 
One mother makes her piteous moan ; 
The other a heart-rending cry 
Sends for her first-born to the sky, 
While bending 'neath the Cross in prayerful agony ! 

Come down, Eternal One, and cheer — 

Bring healing on Thy wing 
Thou Spirit of the Holy God ! 

Till our afflicted sing 
A song of triumph in their woe, 
Full of thanksgiving, and the flow 



156 LINES. 

Of love divine ; — Shed Heavenly Peace ; 
Bid their sad sighs of anguish cease ; 

O make them see 
Thy mercy in the stern decree, 
That called their darlings hence to homes prepared by 
Thee. 
December 3d, I864. 



taints. 



8UGGESTKD BY THE EARLY AND LAMENTED DEATH OF C. 
LEVERETT, JR., THE AUTHOR OF "SUNSHINE." 



Beloved thou hast passed away — 
Thy body sleeps in death — thy lay 

No longer thrills us here ; 
Sleep sweetly loving heart and true — 
And may a stranger pause and strew 
Some flowers upon thy grave — and dew 

Their fragrance with a tear? 

Basking in " sunshine " of the Blest, 
Thy spirit finds eternal rest 

In Paradise of God — 
Breathing the un corrupted air 
Of Eden bowers bright and fair, 
And drinking of the fountain clear 

That gushes from her sod. 



LINES. 157 



We would not have thee back again 
Where all is sorrow, care and pain ; 

Where anguish wrings the soul ; 
The whole creation groaning lies — 
Tears mingle with our sacrifice ; 
Our earthly "sunshine" quickly hies, 

And Death is in the bowl ! 



No — let thy spirit, freed from care, 
Wing its pure flight along the air 

That waves the Heavenly bowers ; 
Altho' upon our cheerless way 
We miss thy keen wit's lambent play ; 
Like sword-blade flashing in the ray 

Of " sunshine " bright with showers ! 



I ever thought " our quarrel just," 
But thou didst deeper plant the trust 

I placed in God and Heaven ; 
For, if thy spirit, ere it flew 
To bathe in clear, celestial dew, 
Pronounced our sacred struggle true 

I know that Victory's given. 



Then banished far be every fear 
That darkens now the wintry air, 

And hangs the pall of night 
Between us and the coming ray 
That yet shall break a glorious day, 
All nations leading in the way 

Of happiness and light. 



158 IN MEMORY OF MRS. CORNELIA M. GREGG. 

Yanish all visions of the tomb — 

The Day-star rises — clears the gloom — 

Kedemption has been wrought! 
He who has sent His son to die 
Has freely promised — "All things I 
Will to my faithful ones supply, 

Yea, blessings above thought ! " 

Then let us take the precious gift, 
And gratefui homage upward lift 

To the Eternal Word : 
See to it that our lives agree 
With all His precepts — that we be 
A people holy, pure and free 

Whose Euler is The Lord. 



In f&jemory of Mrs, gornjelia HI, firr^gg, 

OF COLUMBIA, S. C, 

MOTHER OF GENERAL MAXCY GREGG, WHO DIED SUDDENLY IN 
AUGUST, 1862, A FEW MONTHS BEFORE HER HEROIC SON. 



How beautiful is age when such as thine ! 
Dear honored friend! just found and lost again. 
Before the seed of love could germinate 
And spring up in our hearts a perfect flower, 
Filling them with its fragrance : Not before 
It left an impress of perfection there 
Never to be effaced. Thy well-stored mind, 



IN MEMORY OF MRS. CORNELIA M. GREGG. 159 

Content not with the knowledge it had culled 

And garnered up for use, put ever forth 

New energy and freshly gathered more, 

And from its store dispensed to all around. 

The young, delighted, would about thee draw 

To hear the pleasant tenor of discourse 

Flow from thy ready lips — the while thine eye 

Kindled with brightness, and thy warm, kind heart 

Shed the true charm o'er all. The middle-aged 

Learnt 'twas not time to rest in slothful ease, 

'With sun just at meridian, but reap on 

And gather in their stores for wintry use 

And fireside-feasts instructive. While compeers 

Joined in the beauty of thy green old age, 

And held it forth admiringly to all. 

The silent stars keej) watch above thy grave, 
And thine is rest eternal! But not there, 
In the cold, clodded earth — above the stars, 
Near to the Throne of God, where angels chant 
Untiringly their glorious hymn of praise. 
No more with anxious thought for one afar 
Shall throb thy breast maternal — nor thy heart, 
O'er-fraught, bow down beneath its weight of love. 
All now is joy seraphic — cares of earth, 
Lost in the bosom of the Sea of Peace 
Shall thence arise no more — while rays of light 
Play o'er its waves from the effulgent Sun ; — 
Gleams of the higher bliss to be revealed. 

Jehovah gave and He has ta'en away ! 

Then let us bow submissive to the blow 

Dealt by His own right hand — the Hand of Love ! — 

For through the blood of the Immaculate 



160 MAXCY GREGG. 

All chastisements are now the signs of love 
And tokens of acceptance. Whom He loves 
The Eternal Father chastens for their good ; 
And the all-pitying heart of Jesus throbs, 
On the Great Throne as erst it throbbed on earth. 

Let not a stranger hand dare lift the veil 
That covers sacred grief — or stranger eye 
Peer in too closely. Rather let them weep 
Soft, silent tears ; and sympathetic heart, 
Aching at core, send fervent, solemn prayer 
To the all-merciful and gracious God 
For the afflicted. — "Holy Father bless, 
Shower Thy love upon them ; give them peace 
Through the great Comforter, in Christ the Lord." 



laxctj £ r £ g g 



Long have I lingered by the lovely mount 

Where our great hero lies, 
To hear some gifted bard, in song, recount 

His deeds of high emprise ; 
Some great historic minstrel sweep the string 

And downward fling 
A requiem, telling of a nation's grief, 

Bringing the soul relief — 
Or chant of praise to roll for aye along, 

A deathless tide of song, 
Spreading and deepening — till our rising youth, 
Laved by its sacred wave, reflect his crystal truth ! 



MAXCY GREGG. 161 

No sound nor voice was heard, 

Save " cherup " of a bird 
Sharp-falling on the stillness — or to ear attent 

The far off river lent 
The pleasant music of its soothing moan 

Eushing o'er bed of stone. 

All hushed — but now a note 

Seems on the breeze to float, 
Borne upward from the city — Spreading fair 

Beneath the golden air 

Of the rich sunset hour ; — 

No voice of strength or power 
But the sweet tribute of a youthful heart 

Eeady to do his part ; 
Who, since the great heroic bards are mute, 
Strikes, with the hand of love, his garland-dighted lute I* 

" 'Twas in the winter wild " 

They bore her dauntless child 
Back to his mother on his spotless shield, 

And laid him to his rest 

Within her yearning breast, 
Where, like a happy child, he now reposes ; — 

And as in days of yore, 

His morning gambols o'er, 
He lay, all flushed and happy from his toy, 

And slept, their darling boy ! 
Between his parents — so in death he lies 
'Neath Carolina's skies, 

While Spring, her crown of roses 
Half shaded in a drapery of woe, 

Comes on with footsteps slow 

*Lines on the death of General Gregg by a lad of thirteen. 
14 



162 MAXCY GREGG. 

To scatter flowers upon the triple mound 

Soft swelling from the ground, 
Where they, whose love was stronger far than Death, 
Wait the reviving breath 
Of that fresh morn when bursting graves shall yield 
The precious seed laid up to bloom in Heavenly Field ! 

Struck down in noon of life 

Amid the battle strife, 
What great eclipse fell then upon the State ! 

How dimly broke the morn — 

How sad — whose early dawn 
Came ushered in with tidings of thy fate! 

Carolina, in her darksome grief, 
Bowed low her stately head and sought in tears relief- 

Patriot and statesman true ! 
Long shall thy country rue 
The keen-eyed watchman, wont from silent tower. 
With calm prophetic gaze 
To scan the rising haze 
That o'er the sunny South began to lower, 
Presaging that the hour was nigh 
When a terrific storm should sweep across the sky ! 

It came with bloody hue — 

Thy sword, the tried and true 
Leapt from its scabbard where it long had lain, 

And in thy grasp of might, 

All glowing for the fight, 
Streamed like a meteor o'er the gory plain ! 
Each soldier hailed its cheering ray, 
A.nd followed, with a shout, where'er it led the way ! 

Quick at his chieftain's call 

He left the Council-Hall, 



MAXCY GREGG. 163 

With statesmen met to save the common weal — 
Eeady for any fate, 
So he could check the hate 
Of foes vindictive in their deadly zeal, 
But not on Carolina's soil 
Was he to meet the blow that eased him of his toil ! 

'Twas 'neath thy saddened eyes 
He paid that sacrifice 
Virginia ! — but his last fond sigh was given 
To his loved home afar, 
His true soul's polar star ! 
For her he rendered back his life to Heaven, 
And cheerfully his languid eye 
Saw through the film of death, her independence nigh ! 

A pure immortal fame 
Gilds thy heroic name, 
Which soon the polished marble shall record : — 
Thank G-od we there may write, 
With pencil dipped in light, 
"He placed his hope in the Eternal Word; 
And on his Saviour's bleeding breast 
Laid his war-wearied head in calm and peaceful rest !" 
Columbia, April 14th, 1863. 



164 THE TWO LAST MESSAGES OE MAXCY GREGG. 

Ths Two &ast J&jessagxs of JSaxcg Qregg, 



Comrades ! our bloody work is done, 
The battle fought, the victory won ; 
Stack arms! and take your well-earned rest, 
"With thankful prayer to Heaven addree 

For His protecting care. 
But pause — new banners flaunt the sky, 
The tramp of armed feet is nigh, 

Of subtilty beware ! 
I must unto the front and know, 
What signs yon proud gonfalons show ; 
Scan if they Federal ensigns be, 
Or symbols of our Chivalry ! 

He said and slightly shook the rein — 
His war-steed sped across the plain 
With flashing eye, and flowing mane ; 
No need to wound his glossy side 
With prick of rowel — proud was he 
To bear the Rose of Chivalry ! 

Fair Rose ! so soon in dust to bide — 
Alas ! was there no warning cry, 
No shout to tell the foe was nigh! 
No arm to ward the deadly blow 
That laid the warrior-statesman low ! 
No angel hovering o'er the field 
To interpose his guardian shield ! — 
"Withdrawn was God's protecting power 
In this the saddest, darkest hour 



THE TWO LAST MESSAGES OF MAXCY GREGG. 165 

For Carolina ! Whose great heart 
Bled at its inmost core to part 
"With him, the bravest and the best 
Of all her darlings laid to rest : 
Her noble champion and knight, 
Of 'scutcheon pure and honor bright ! 

" Quick, surgeon, tell me ' Is it Death ?' 
Speak boldly — nor with faltering breath 
Try to disguise the truth, for I 
Have looked him calmly in the eye 
On many a bloody field — nor now, 
Though to his mighty power I bow, 
Fear his stern glance and haughty brow." 

"E'en so : — Submissively I hear 

The solemn truth that I am near 

The confine of the hidden sphere ; — 

But let me ere Death sets his seal 

To all my efforts for her weal, 

Send the sad message of my fate 

To my beloved — my native State ; 

Tell her — if now I am to die, 

I give my life right cheerfully, 

And hail her independence nigh." 

And with these touching words he threw 

His heart's deep love in that adieu ! 

And yet a depth below that deep 
Must now be fathomed for the love 
Which said " Bereaved one do not weep, 
But meet me in that home above, 
Where dearest we no more shall part 
But dwell together ; heart to heart 



166 THE BURIAL OF GENERAL JENKINS. 

Beating in concert, at the feet 
Of Him, who came my soul to meet 
Here, in this wilderness of Death, 
And healed it with His pardoning breath.' 
Columbia, April 21st, 1863. 



The Burial of grig.-grsnsral M. Jenkins, 

AT SUMMERVILLE, WHIT-SUNDAY, MAY 15TH, 1864. 



Bring blossoms from the rosy beds of May, 

Bay from the woodland, Myrtle from the bowers, 

And arbor-vita), whose enduring leaf 

Symbols the life eterne ; and let fair hands 

Weave them in garlands to adorn the mound 

Where sleeps the brave and true. Sweet his repose 

Near the maternal bosom from whose fount 

He drew the virtues that made up his life. 

A few short weeks ago that silent breast 

Throbbed wfth a holy joy, when to her heart 

The mother pressed her young, heroic son 

And bade him, with her blessing, go again 

And battle for his country. Long then seemed 

Their day of meeting — but God made it short. 

Here is no martial note, nor organ's swell 
To honor, with its wild or solemn strain 
Our hero's burial — but one lone bird 
Pours on the fragrant air a shower of song. 



THE BURIAL OF GENERAL JENKINS. 167 

Sing on sweet warbler! for what holier note 

Can charm him to his rest, than thine Heaven-taught 

And flowing, like the angels' from a breast, 

Wholly at peace with God ! Heart-soothing strain ! 

How different from the noisy din of strife, 

The war-trump and the cannon's awful roar — 

Glide softly to the mourners sorrowing hearts 

And fit them for the promise of this day, 

The Comforter sent forth to all who weep, 

And bearing dews of healing on His wing ! 

One blessed Sabbath, when the Lenten East 
Was drawing to its close, and streaks of light, 
As heralding the glorious Easter morn, 
Began to pierce the gloom, we saw thee bow 
Within this Temple, and on bended knee 
Eeceive in reverent hand the bread divine, 
And carry to thy lips the wine of Life, 
Which to the heart of faith is Heavenly food, 
We little deemed it thy viaticum — 
And that by Whitsuntide thy mortal frame 
Would have been given to the silent dust, 
With tears of kindred — and a Nation's grief I 

We thought to see thee, in the coming time, 
When meek-eyed Peace has once more blessed our land- 
Wearing the laurel-wreath thy valor won, 
And clothed in garments of prosperity, 
Living to good old age, with " troops of friends " 
And children's children gathered 'round thy hearth, 
Thy warm, bright Southern hearth — to hear thee tell 
Of deeds of prowess by our heroes wrought 
In the great struggle — but with modest grace 
Setting aside thine own — We fondly dreamed — 
But God has willed it otherwise — Farewell 1 



168 A WILD-FLOWER WREATH. 

True soldier of thy Country and of Christ ! 
With what assured hope we leave thee here 
To wait th' Archangel's trump ! Thy spirit fled 
Upon the shout of triumph — and the sound 
Took a seraphic sweetness as thy soul, 
Nearing the gate of Paradise, was met 
By throng of white-robed spirits bearing palms, 
And singing hymns of Victory and Peace ! 



Jt Wild-Flower Wreath, 

FOR THE GRAVE OF SARAII E . WISE 



My last green chaplet graced a hero's grave ! * 
A martyr to the sacred cause of Truth — 
Whose soul from front of battle leaped to God, 
And now reposes near the Saviour's Throne. 

That garland scarce has withered, when again 
I gather flowerets for another mound, 
And as my trembling fingers twine the wreath 
Do keep them fresh and dewy with my tears. 

Martyr as well was she whom now we weep, 
The silent sufferer, who so bravely bore 
Sad exile from her noble, bleeding State ; 
Who bowed her tender shoulders to the cross 
With maiden meekness, and submissive faith, 
Having no other will save Christ the Lord's, 
Who placed it there, and bade her follow Him. 

* Brigadier-General Jenkins. 



A WILD-FLOWER WREATH. 169 

Weep not for her — for surely from that cross, 
Of anguish and unrest, her soul ha3 been 
Borne up by angels to reposing bowers 
Fast by the gate of Heaven where the redeemed 
Await, in blissful hope, the Judgment morn. 

But for the stricken-one — The Mother forced f 
To part with the sole treasure left to cheer 
The lonesome hours of exile, care and toil, 
And lighten all life's burdens, let us weep, 
Mingling warm drops, of sympathy with her's — 
O what a void in that large, loving heart ! 
But Grod can fill it — and we know He will, 
For tenderest pity swells the pleading breast 
Of the Grod-man before His Father's Throne, 
And what He asks the Spirit will perform. 

Come then and whisper of His boundless love 
Ye friends w T ho minister to this distress, 
And let your words of comfort fall as dew 
From heart of Heaven upon the tender plants. 

Tell how her dear-one dwells where angels love 

To tend on precious souls redeemed by Christ, 

And brought to realms of Bliss ; and, wandering, catch 

Slight glimpses of the mystery their eyes 

Have vainly sought to pierce, tho' formed of rays 

Effulgent from the fountain-head of Light! 

Tell how her intellect, so brilliant here, 
Shall there expand, until a glorious orb, 



f Mrs. Margaret Wise, of Virginia, sister of the Ex-Governor of that 
State. 

15 



170 A WILD-FLOWER WREATH. 

Of perfect and harmonious symmetry, 

It floats towards the Wisdom J that was found 

Linked to the throne of God ere Time began. 

Tell how His pity spared her gallant sons 

When battling for their country — not cut off 

In heat of conflict, without time to cry 

"God save my spirit" — or, "Have mercy Christ" 

But given yet a longer day of grace 

To make their peace with God — if haply they 

Have not already found it in His Son. 

O give us all that peace — Thou Blessed One ! 
Not only to this sorrow-stricken soul — 
But unto all who mourn throughout the length 
And breadth of our distracted, bleeding land — 
Let it distill as dew upon our heads, 
And in our hearts be amply shed abroad 
Leaving no room for harrowing doubt or fear. 

Then, should our eyelids close before the day 
When the glad messenger of Hope is seen 
Winging its way with olive-branch of Peace 
To plant in our rich soil, we will not grieve, 
But — leaving our offspring to enjoy its shade, 
And feast upon its fruitage — speed away 
To find its glorious prototype — in Heaven. 
Columbia, July 16th, I864. 

X See eighth chapter of Proverbs. 



WAR-WAVES. 171 

A CHANT FOR THE TIMES. 



"What are the war-waves saying 

As they compass us around ? 
The dark, ensanguined billows, 

"With their deep and dirge-like sound ? 
Do they murmur of submission ; 

Do they call on us to bow 
Our necks to the foe triumphant 

"Who is riding o'er us now ? — 

Never ! — No sound submissive 

Comes from those waves sublime, 
Or the low, mysterious voices 

Attuned to their solemn chime ! 
For the hearts of our noble martyrs 

Are the springs of its rich supply ; 
And those deeply mystic murmurs 

Echo their dying cry ! 

They bid us uplift our banner 

Once more in the name of God; 
And press to the goal of Freedom 

By the paths our fathers trod : 
They passed o'er their dying brothers, 

From their pale lips caught the sigh — 
The flame of their hearts heroic 

From the flash of each closing eye ! 

Up ! up! for the time is pressing, 
The red waves close around ; — 

They will lift us on their billows 
If our hearts are faithful found ! 



172 COLUMBIA. 

They will lift us high — exultant 
And the craven world shall see 

The Ark of a ransomed people 
Afloat on the crimson sea ! 

Afloat — with her glorious banner — 

The cross on its field of red, 
Jts stars, and its white folds waving 

In triumph at her head : — 
Emblem of all that's sacred 

Heralding Faith to view ; — 
Type of unblemished Honor ; 

Symbol of all that's true ! 

Then what can those waves be singing 

But an anthem, grand, sublime, 
As they bear for our martyred heroes 

A wail to the verge of Time? 
What else as they roll majestic 

To the far off shadowy shore, 
To join the Eternal chorus 

When time shall be no more ? 
Columbia, December 19th, 1863. 



Columbia, 



Sad exiles from our lowland nest, 
Could we have found a sweeter rest, 
Than on thy fair and fragrant breast 

Columbia? 

Sheltered in thy caressing arms, 
We scarcely heed the wild alarms 
Of war — so potent are thy charms 

Columbia ! 



COLUMBIA. 173 

Yet sometimes, startled from our trance 
We cast around a troubled glance 
At tidings of the foe's advance 

Columbia. 

As lately when my city fair 
Bristled with carabine and spear: 
Her forts with triumph hailed them near, 

Columbia ! 

Then valiant Beauregard and Ehett, 
New jewels in their helmets set ; 
And gallant Bipley cried " well met " 

Columbia ! 

Secure again we turn to thee 

Decked in the Spring's sweet witchery, 

And 'mid the buds keep jubilee 

Columbia. 

How can the heart be sad when here 
The sunlight glances everywhere ; 
And song-birds vocal make the air, 

Columbia ! 

Thy lovely avenues invite, 

Now with the fresh green foliage dight, 

To wander on in glad delight 

Columbia. 

Thy Park ! that fairy-like retreat 
So often pressed by maiden feet, 
When in coquettish sport they meet, 

Columbia. 



174 COLUMBIA. 

And when 'neath Summer's sunset sky 
Thy precious "wee-ones" thither hie, 
What holier scene can greet the eye, 

Columbia ! 

Thy gardens ! not closed up in pride, 

And to the Eefugee denied — 

But gates thrown courteous^ wide, 

Columbia. 

Where, for the fragment of an hour, 
We deem us in some magic bower, 
And flit entranced from flower to flower, 

Columbia ! 

Thy churches ! where the exile's care 
Is lulled by solemn hymn and prayer; 
And the sure trust that God is near, 

Columbia. 

O beautiful ! O fair to see ! 
Spreading o'er sunny slope and lea : 
Embraced by rich-voiced Congaree, 

Columbia ! 

Where the stern mountain virtues meet 
The lowland graces, soft and sweet ; 
And form a character complete, 

Columbia ! 

Long shall the exile's blessing rest 
Upon thy warm and loving breast; 
Thy noble, honorable crest, 

Columbia ! 
April 16th, 1863. 

Note. — Columbia presents a different aspect since the visit of the great 
raider, Sherman. 



TO MY SISTER. 175 

Ta My Sister, 

ON VISITING HER NEW HOME, MAY, 1864. 



"Peace to this house and all who dwell herein"— 

Peace — and the benediction of thy God 

Rest on thy homestead sister ! The soft wing 

Of the Eternal Spirit shelter give ; 

And the Good Shepherd guard it as His fold. 

The period of thy married life has been 

A cycle rich in blessings — for altho' 

The clouds that oft' times shadow wedded bliss 

Could not be kept forever from thy sky, 

Yet have they always proved but summer rack 

Which the sweet breath of peace soon drove afar, 

Leaving free scope for the warm Sun of Love. 

At times the chill of poverty has crept 
Almost too near thy heart, when at thy door 
The form of cold-eyed Penury was seen 
About to lift the latch ; but the strong arm, 
And firm determination of the one, 
Given by Heaven, to be thy Lord and Head, 
Held him at bay, while with unwavering faith 
He labored on to keep his babes from want ; 
And now, at length, with grateful heart he sees 
His faith rewarded and his labor blessed. 

During those many years the Hand of God 
Added, from time to time, a precious flower 
Unto the wreath of beauty twining round 
Thy homestead, and the altar of thy heart. 



176 TO iMY SISTER. 

O marvellous, unprecedented Love ! — 
In all this score of years no flower or bud 
Has fallen from the garland to the dust! 
The six bay blossoms and four roses still 
Shed their perfume and gladden thy new home. 

But O, my sister ! it were vain to hoj:>e, 

If God should spare thy life a few more years, 

(Which may He do, for love of His dear Son. 

And tender pity to thy little ones,) 

Thou canst escape for aye the cruel pang 

That wrings the heart maternal when it feels 

A lovely floweret drooping its fair head 

And bowing pale in death. It cannot be 

But that the sword must pierce thy bosom too 

E'en as the Holy Mary's. Then, Beloved, 

With humble, penitential, prayerful soul 

Prepare thee for the trial — tho' it bo 

One of thy hero boys to offer up 

In sacrifice upon thy country's shrine, 

Or see thy little precious rosy pet 

Bemoved from thine to bloom on Jesus' breast. 

Would that a sister's love could ward the blow !- 
Most gladly would I suffer cruel pain 
To save thy heart one pang. It cannot be — 
The mandate has gone forth we all must die; 
Yet have I heard the Christian mother's breast, 
Feels a mysterious pleasure in its pain, 
When she can say, " I have a flower with God"- 
A lamb of mine within the Saviour's Fold ! 

Then let me with a calm, confiding trust 
Commend thee to our tender Father's care, 
He loves thee with a love surpassing mine; 



THE NEW. 177 

And when He chastens mercy guides the blow. 
O may the whirlwind fury of His wrath 
Never sweep o'er this dwelling, but its change 
Come on with noiseless tread ; till " calm decay," 
With ivyed beauty, makes its walls sublime; 
And as we reckon those who, one by one, 
Shall from its portal pass to worlds unknown, 
May we, with strong assurance, feel that they, 
With garments lily-white, have entrance found 
To the Eternal Mansions of The Blest. 



Tfcue Mew, 



O'CONNOR'S CHILD.' 



Dedicated to the infant Mary Louisa O'Connor, aged 4 months. 



O'Connor's Child ! Tho' not " the bud 

Of Erin's Eoyal tree of glory," 

Yet hast thou graces of thine own 

To live in song or story — 

Thy winsome mouth — thine eyes of light 

So wildly, beautifully bright 

And blue withal — thy gestures free, 

And eloquent of baby glee, 

All seem prophetic of a power 

To be revealed in Love's own hour, 

When bards about thy path shall throng 

To offer thee the need of song. 



178 THE NEW. 

In sooth thou art " a hero's child " — 
For in the front of battle wild, 
Thy sire has often bravely stood 
When Death was sweeping, as a flood, 
His comrades from his side ; and who — 
"When Victory turned the tide of war 
On dread Manassas' plain — but he 
Planted the Legion Banner bright, 
Upon the captured battery's height, 
And with exultant gesture threw 
Its folds unto the breeze — that far 
Bore his triumphant, glad " hurrah " — 
While war-worn comrades joined the cry, 
And swelled, with grateful hearts, the shout of Victory ! 

Fair, lovely child ! When o'er thy head 
Three fleeting lustres shall have shed 
The influence of their suns and showers ; — 
And culture rare, in fireside hours 
Of chilly winter, shall have wrought 
On thy young mind, and from it brought 
The fruit and flowerage of thought 
To crown thy spring-time : Then shall we 
None brighter 'mong the maidens see ; 
None more bewitching — with the grace 
Of Erin in thy form and face ; 
Her fire within thine eye — thy hair 
Bound with her shamrock green and fair; 

While round her Harp thy dimpled arms shall twine. 

And rosy fingers 'wake a music half divine ! 

Child of the ancient Holy Isle! — 
May the Eternal Father's smile 
Beam ever on thee ! His fond eye 



LIZZIE. 179 

Watch o'er thy heedless infancy ; 
His guardian arm, through life, embrace 
And bear thee on from Grace to Grace, 
Till thou perfected stand before His sacred face ! 
Columbia, December 17, 1863. 



hizzxz* 



Beautiful and bright and airy 
Is our youthful friend ! A fairy 
Must have blessed her natal morn, 
With each grace that can adorn 
Circle gay, or homestead holy : — 
Round her golden locks a glory 
Gleams, as from a maiden saint, 
Free from every earthly taint, 
That from old Cathedral aisle 
Greets us with a placid smile. 

Then anon her bright eye glances 
Beam that every heart entrances, 
Telling that sweet love reposes 
Like perfume in heart of roses, 
Deep within her gentle breast, 
Tho' to mortal ne'er confest! 

Witching creature! Soft, caressing, 
Shedding o'er thy home a blessing 
Such as seldom doth endower 
Mortal dwelling. Lovely flower ! 



180 LIZZIE. 

To thy sister flowerets showing 
All the sacred graces flowing 
From a life devote to duty ; 
In itself the greatest beauty 
Can adorn a maiden — Grace 
Adding to the fairest face. 

Brothers, mindful of the glory 
Of theif name renowned in story, 
Lay their laurels at thy feet, 
Thou who makes their dwelling meet 
For the weary soldiers' rest — 
Pillowed on thy gentle breast 
They forget past toil and care ; 
While thine ever ready ear 
Drinks in with a proud delight 
Incidents of Camp or Fight. 

Heart paternal, ever blessing 
Doth the hand of love caressing 
Pass o'er every rippling curl 
Of thy hair, thou fairy girl ! 
Deeming thee the sweetest flower 
Of his garland-dighted bower ; 
Minding of Love's early day 
When a richer treasure lay 
On his breast — in joy or care 
Shedding blessed fragrance there. 

But there is a grace supernal 
From the Cross of the Eternal 
Son of God forever streaming — 
Is its glory o'er thee beaming ? 
Is thy beauteous robe and vestal 



ELIZA. 181 

Fastened by the pearl Celestial, 

O'er thy breast of snowy whiteness ? — 

Jewel above price and brightness, 

By the Bridegroom only given 

Holy souls elect of Heaven. 

Is it thine ? — If so, no sorrow 

Dims the brightness of thy morrow ; 

Or, should clouds arise with day, 

God shall chase them swift away, 

And a light ethereal pour 

O'er thy pathway — evermore ! 



Eliza, 



Tiny lock of baby hair ! 
Brings a vision sweet and fair 
To my fancy's ken to-day ; 
Bural cottage far away, 
Canopied by sighing pines — 
Trellised by protecting vines, 
That encircle it around 
Like arm of rustic lover wound 
About the dear-one he would shield 
From danger of the wood or field. 

In the porch a hammock swings — 
To its side the baby clings, 
Thumping, jumping, laughing, crowing, 
All unconscious she is throwing 
Gladness over hearts deprest, 
"Weary of the stern unrest 
Of this arid wilderness ! — 



182 ELIZA. 

" Who are these whom thus to bless 
God has sent this precious dove, 
In the fulness of His love 
From the Mercy Seat above?" 

These through fiery scenes have past ! — 
Ey the war's terrific blast 
Driven to this sheltering bower, 
They await, in faith, the hour 
When a word from God's own mouth 
Shall call back blessings on The South ! 

Grandam — once with graceful mien 
And matron dignity, as queen 
Reigned she over acres fair ; 
Loved, respected far and near ; 
Guiding with religious hand 
Children dear and menial band, 
Ever read}' at command ; — 
Still her children to her cling ; 
But her servants, on swift wing 
Of false freedom, all have flown, 
Leaving, in old age, alone 
One who had been ever kind, 
Serving them with hand and mind, 
Since when a bride of sixteen years 
She came with blushes and with tears, 
A Southern planter's life to share, 
Its joys, its comfort and its care; 
Till now, when on her widowed head, 
Three score and ten long years have shed 
The snows of winter — They have gone ! 
Eut the Good God leaves not alone, 
And void of comfort, one whose days 



ELIZA. 183 

Have been devoted to His praise — 
For, yet enough of strength has she 
To ply her needle busily — 
At the attic window seated 
"While her listening ear is greeted 
With melodious strains that flow 
From violin and piano — 
Linked harmoniously below ! 
Or, for a while, her task she leaves 
To snatch her namesake from the bed, 
(With her impromptu toys o'erspread) 
To see the silvery rain-drops fall, 
And point her rosy finger small 
At the bright globules as they float 
To patter in the mimic, moat 
Formed by the dripping from the eaves ! 

Father — prematurely grey — 
From paternal fields away, 
Where his serfs usurp the sway 
God committed to his hand : — 
Four brave sons around him stand, 
With loving heart and bared breast, 
Eeady to do his least behest. 
The arms that struck for Liberty 
Will link around the old roof tree 
And prop it for futurity ! — 

But in these dark and gloomy days 

Eliza ! all your pretty ways 

Have formed his chief delight — You shine 

His " Iris " beautiful, divine ; 

Traced by Light's pencil rich and warm, 

His bow of promise in the storm ! 



184 ELIZA. 

To your Mother's breast you bring 

The olive-branch of peace, and sing 

A song of Hope within her ear 

So penetrating, soft and clear 

It floats adown through many a year ! 

" Cousin mine, you have not told 
Half the joy that I unfold; 
My dear brothers from the fight 
Make it now their chief delight 
To toss the baby to and fro ; 
Quick from arm to arm I go — 
Mirth dispensing, Gloom preventing 
As they toss me to and fro ! — 
Even Cousin John you see 
Leaves his book to romp with me! 
I will be as proud I ween 
As any little Fairy Queen 
Sporting on the moonlit 'knowe,' 
While Elf-boys around her bow I" 

Cease ! — and let dear Cousin Kate 
Limerick's crowned Laureate 
Your wonder-working power relate : — 
"When the fretful hour draws nigh, 
And little babe should close her e}~e 
For her health-preserving rest, 
She will not sleep on mother's breast ! 
"At morning, noon, or dewy eve " 
Cousin Theus her work must leave 
To lull the darling to repose ; 
No plaintive lullaby she throws, 
Full of pathetic charm to close 



ELIZA. 185 

Those heavy lids — but babe must go 

Whether she would or know. 
To sleep — for coz will have it so ! 

With thump and bump 

And noise and clatter 
(Without giving "miss" a voice in the matter) 

Enough to fright 

The little sprite, 

Ycleped slumber, 

And the number 
Of moth-like elves that round her cling, 
Bearing dreams upon their wing ; 

But no such thing, 
Babe is lapped by Slumber's wing ! 

See, the sunset golden shafts 
Shoot across the road ! and laughs 
The breeze amid the boughs — Opprest ! 
Come and take an hour of rest, 
And quaff the aromatic air, 
Bidding short farewell to care : 
Babe the pure delight must share ; 
Aunt will wheel her Car of State — 
(In which she's sitting proud, elate — 
Waiting by the step or gate) 
Through the long symphonious reaches 
Of the pines, whose whisper teaches 
Of the Land of deep repose : 
What sweet music earthward flows! 
As if G-ood Spirits in their flight * 
Heavenward, had, in mid air, 

* The idea of the pausing of the spirits in their heavenward flight, 
borrowed from my friend, Dr. J. B. Irving. 

16 



186 ELIZA. 

Paused to give us mortals cheer, 
Striking from harmonious wing 
Echoes, soft as those which ring 
The Beatific Bowers of Light 
Spread below the Eternal Height ! 

Lamplight flashes in the hall ! 

With her shadow on the wall 

Babe will play till " Good-night all " — 

Laughing, crowing, clawing, toying; 

In her very heart enjoying 

This her first essay to clasp 

A shadow that eludes her grasp ! 

Cottage 'neath the waving pines ; 

Clasped by the graceful vines ! 

Oft, by love-lit fancy borne, 

I visit thee at night and morn, 

Enter at window or at door 

To romp with baby on the floor ; 

Or take new lessons to my soul 

Of Christian graces to control 

Its restless throbbings — here they shine 

In tints so tender, so divine — 

So beautifully glow to view 

They needs must prove Eeligion true ; 

Only the Gospel's blessed ray 

Could give such light in this dark day ! 

Father ! where'er my dear ones roam 
May Christ's religion make their dome 
Eadiant with Faith, and Hope, and Love 
Until they rest with Thee above 
In mansions whence is no re-move ! 
October, 1865. 



LITTLE HARRIET'S DREAM. 187 



what a beautiful dream I "had last night ! I dreamt I was in 
heaven, and saw the bright angels all holding hands in a ring, 
and singing praise to G-od. And I thought one of the angels, 
dressed in shining gold, took me by the hand and said, "Come 
and sing with us," but I said, "I cannot rest till Jesus and 
brother Charley come." 

Then I looked up and saw Jesus, leading brother Charley by 
the hand, coming to us. Brother was dressed in his soldier 
clothes, and had his cap on his head. He looked just as when I 
told him "good-by." 

Jesus was a soldier too — but had no cap upon His head. He 
took me by the hand and led me to the angels, and we all began 
to sing. Jesus was singing too ! 

1 saw God sitting upon His shining throne. The throne was 
made of white pearls and black diamonds. And God was as 
bright and shining as when He talked with Moses in The Mount. 

But I was not afraid— I spoke to God and said, " Will you give 
me some of that white manna you fed the children of Israel with 
in the wilderness ?" 



The dream of a child six years old, given in her own words. 
We were expecting the body of her beloved brother home for 



I dreamed I stood in heaven 

'Mid a fair and shining throng 
Of angels, who sung praise to God 

In sweet and solemn song; 
And as they sang they linked their hands 

And formed a circle bright, 
Moving harmoniously around 

All robed in dazzling white. 



188 LITTLE HARRIET'S DREAM. 

On seeing me one broke the ring 

And took me by the hand, 
Saying " Come darling np with me 

And join the shining band ;" 
I said " I cannot rest e'en here, 

In this my promised Home, 
Until the Saviour, whom I love, 

And brother Charley come!" 

Then up I lifted face and eye, 

And lo ! the Saviour dear, 
Leading my brother by the hand, 

With beaming smile drew near : 
I knew my Brother, ah! so well, 

He wore Confederate grey — 
Dressed as a soldier was our boy, 

Just as he went away ! 

He had his cap upon his head, 

Drawn low to shade his eye, 
Just as he looked when last I saw 

And bade him then " Good-by " — 
Blest Jesus shone a soldier too, 

With sword upon His thigh, 
As "Captain of Salvation" — he 

With conquering step drew nigh ! 

He wore no helmet on His head, 

But His rich, golden hair 
Swept o'er His mailed shoulders broad, 

In ripples soft and fair ; 
His girdle studded was with gems, 

All glorious to behold, 
His feet like burnished metal shone, 

Fine brass, or finer gold ! 



LITTLE HARRIET'S DREAM. 189 

He kindly took me by the hand 

And led me to the ring, 
Where Christ, and brother Charles and I 

Did with the angels sing! 
For so it seemed in my dream — 

O was it very wrong, 
To think that Jesus Lent His voice 

To swell the angels' song ? 

And then I thought I saw the King 

Of Glory on his Throne ; 
The great, the everlasting God, 

The bright and shining One : 
The Throne was made of creamy pearls 

And diamonds black as jet, 
The lustre of the one against 

The other meetly set. 

And in my dream I spoke to God 

The Father, tho' He shone, 
As when he talked upon the Mount 

To Moses all alone ! 
And said " My Father will you feed 

Me with that manna white, 
With which you fed, when in The Wild, 

The wandering Israelite ?" 

" Not that, I give thee better bread," 

A loving voice replied, 
"For thou shalt feed upon the Lamb 

Of God, who meekly died : — 
My Christian Children all must live 

Upon the food divine, 
The flesh and blood of Jesus Christ 

Set forth in bread and wine." 



190 AN ECHO FROM SUMMERVILLE. 

With this I 'woke, and wept to find 

That I was lingering here, 
Till reaching out my little hand 

I touched my Mother dear ; 
Then was I glad to think' that I 

Might still her comfort prove, 
Until we join our darling there, 

Where all is peace and Love ! 
November 28, 1865. 



$n Echo from $ummmrilte. 



DEDICATED TO THE " LADIES' MEMORIAL ASSOCIATION " OF 
CHARLESTON, SO. CA. 



Exquisite music floateth free 
From "the old City by the Sea," 

Half jubilant, half drear, 
It fills mine eyes with holy tears ; 
Recalls the hope of former years, 
The mingled faith and love : — The fears 
Would some time loom upon the scene, 

Clothing the sky serene 

In clouds that came between 

Us, and the rainbow hues, 

All gloriously diffused, 

Begot of sunny ray 

Upon the crystal spray 
Spanning, with arc of light, the visionary sphere. 



AN ECHO FROM SUMMERVTLLE. 191 

The breeze seems full of sighs ; 

And low pathetic cries, 

As from the snowy breast 

Of woman when opprest 
With grief profound — 

Yet list ! — another sound ! 
A song of triumph mingling with the moan, 

And all around are thrown 
Strains, as from viewless spirits blending low, 
Sweet music with the notes that from those mourners 

flow! 



It is the chosen day, 

When women homage pay, 
To those have perished in a cause as high 

As ever lit the eye 
Or stirred the spirit of heroic knight ! 

None other can compare, 

Save that which in yon sphere 
Places the crown of Christian martyrhood 
Upon the foreheads of the brave and good, 

A garland dazzling bright, 

Wove of celestial light ! 

They come — the bright and fair ! 

With hearts true to the cause, 

The holy, patriot laws 
Of God and man, to strew with flower-buds rare 

The graves where calmly sleep 

The forms that erst did sweep 

Across the gory plain, 

Carrying, within their train, 
Death and destruction to the haughty foe ; 



192 AN ECHO FROM SUMMERVILLE. 

Till God's mysterious power, 
In one o'erwhelming hour 
O'erthrew their hopes, and laid their banners low 
With stern, chastising blow ! 

Come on and pour the dirge — 

We stand upon the verge 
Of utter ruin. All in vain ! in vain ! 
The ghastly wounds, the blood that fell as rain 
Upon the war-bruised Earth — the dying groan 

Of sire, son and brother, 
And the mate 

Of heart left desolate : — 
One dies on battle-field ; the while another 
In gloomy prison ward would gladly smother 
The sigh of anguish piercing to the soul 

Of bleeding comrade dear, 

Whose life is ebbing there; 
The stern control 
Causes the beaded sweat adown his face to roll ! 

In vain ? — Say not "in vain" — 

Dispel the dismal strain, 
And feed the summer air with anthems high ! 

The God who fills the sky, 
And walketh on the whirlwind, still is near, 

And bends a listening ear — 
His Holy Eye, 
Will not behold, unchecked, iniquity ! 

The sands run on apace 

And bring the Day of Grace, 

When once more, hand in hand, 

We shall unshackled stand 
And breathe the breath of Freemen in the State, 

Where God has fixed our fate ! 



THE SOUTHERN BOY'S LAMENT. 193 

TheD catch we up the music as it floats, 

And add exultant notes 
As we pass on to lay our garlands fair, 

Beaded with Memory's tear, 

Upon the three loved graves * 

O'er which bright Nature waves 
Her coronal of ever changing hues ; 

Where Evening sheds her dews ; 

And holy stars diffuse 
The hope that other eyes than ours watch o'er 
The heroes whose repose is sacred evermore ! 
June 16, 1866. 



The Southern Boy's lament* 

Where has my dear old maumer gone ? 
I miss her when the day is done ; 
I miss her when the rosy ray 
Of morn upon my curtains play; 
Miss her kind face, her loving eyes, 
Her cheery greeting — " Sonny, rise ! 
The lambs are frisking on the lawn ; 
The ducklings to the pond have gone ; 
The hungry chickens ' peep ' and cry j 
Sweet little Sis has oped her eye; 



* The graves of Brigadier-General M. E. Jenkins and privates 
Henry M. Hughes and Charles B. Foster, who alone of the Con- 
federate dead are interred in Summerville. They rest in the Epis- 
copal churchyard. 

17 



194 THE SOUTHERN BOY'S LAMENT. 

She has been washed and dressed with care, 
And waits for thee — The precious dear! 
Up ! up! and join her in her play ; 
And bless G-od for another day." 

Where is my dear old maumer — where? 

At night I used to say my prayer 

Down at her knee, if mother dear 

Was busy — or upon her breast 

Held darling sister hushed to rest; 

And then, dear maumer, me would tell 

Of Heaven, where the angels dwell; 

Or how the All-Loving Father's eye 

Looks down upon us as we lie 

Snug in our beds : — of Jesus who 

Sits with a crown upon His brow 

At God's right hand ; tell when on Earth 

He never silenced childrens' mirth, 

Nor frowned the prattlers away ; 

But, with a smile as bright as day, 

Would woo them to His side and bless 

And gather in His arms with loving, warm car 

When angels brought my pretty sis, 
She was the first to let me kiss, 
And touch her tender hand and cheek; 
She told me that I must be meek, 
And kind and loving to the child, 
If I would have the Saviour mild 
To reckon me His lambkin dear, 
One of His own true fold and care. 

With maumer' s grandson I would play 
And romp about the live-long day, 



THE SOUTHERN BOY'S LAMENT. 195 

Drilling him, with the other boys, 

With roll of drum and trumpet noise; 

We fished together at the brook, 

A bent pin serving us for hook; 

Set traps the pretty birds to catch, 

And played at many a merry match : 

Where have my happy playmates gone? 

I cannot find a single one ! 

But most of all, my maumer dear, 

I cannot find her anywhere ! 

She was not here on Christmas Day 

To see the beautiful display 

Of treasures brought me by " St. Nick ;" 

Say mother, is dear maumer sick? — 

She was not here to praise each toy, 

With eyes brimful of Christmas joy ; 

Not hear to get my hearty kiss, 

Her "Merry Christmas" too I miss; 

Not here to join "the angels' song:" — 

I missed her so the whole day long, — 

See here the handkerchief I bought, 

With pretty colors richly fraught, 

To form a turban for her head — 

Oh! tell me mother, is she dead? 

Say, will she never come again ? — 

It fills my heart with cruel pain ; 

And little sister too will cry 

If maumer ne'er again shall sing her " hush-a-by." 

My boy ! Old maumer 's of the past — 
On her dear face we've looked our last ; 
No more o'er our sick beds shall see 
Her dark face bending tenderly; 



196 THE SOUTHERN BOY'S LAMENT. 

No more she'll fold you in her arms, 

Or quiet sister's soft alarms; — 

No more will she be by to hail 

The new-born infant's feeble wail ; 

No more with loving, pious care, 

Shall robe our darlings for the bier; 

Or close the venerable eyes 

Of pilgrim ready for the skies : 

Nor weep at burial of our dead ; — 

Nor help to deck the marriage bed 

Of our young daughters; — nor increase the mirth 

When to the old paternal hearth 

The boy she proudly nursed upon her breast 

Brings his fair bride for aye to rest 

A daughter of the house; — Oh! nevermore, 

Her heart shall thrill with joys of yore, 

While our own bosoms gave responsive swell 

Of love, which only Goo's omnicient Word can tell. 



PART THE THIRD. 




Needs no show of mountain hoary, 

Winding shore or deepening glen, 
Where the landscape in its glory- 
Teaches truth to wandering men : 
Give true hearts but earth and sky, 
And some flowers to bloom and die, 
Homely scenes and simple views 
Lowly thoughts may best infuse. 

[Keble. 



Th£ Flatxrtfr-kadtfn igupiil 



The Grod of Love, A I Benedicite, 

How mighty and how grete a Lord is he ! 

Again his might their gainen non obstacles, 

He may be clessed a God for his miracles. 

For he can maken at his owen gise 

Of everich herte, as that him list devise. 

[Chaucer. 



" Cupid lovely ! Cupid bright ! 
With thine eyes of roguish light ; 
Where hast thou been wandering, boy ? 
Thou art beaming o'er with joy, 
Showing that some mischief gay 
Has been wrought along the way ; — 
By thy quiver full of flowers, 
Thou hast been in Beauty's bowers 
Sporting all this blessed day 
Of the fragrant, rosy May ; 
Thy beatitude reveal — 
That its joyance might me steal 
From the carking care of earth, — 
Cupid fill me with thy mirth ! " 

" Jove on me bestowed the power 
To sun myself in Beauty's bower ; — 
When from my serial flight 
In her shady haunts I light, 
Beaming glorious to the sight ; 
Lily hands are clapped in glee 
And Cupid ' To Triumphe !' 



200 THE FLOWER-LADEN CUPID. 

Shouted — Then beneath my wing 
I hide my bow, and hear them sing — 
Yet place the arrow to the string ! — 
Look among my flowers — see 
Not a shaft is left to me ! 

I have scattered them around, 

And with these spoils my quiver crowned. 
Whitest bosoms now are grieving ; 
Bosoms late with wild bliss heaving ; 
Eyes that into eyes as bright 
Deeply gazed in tranced delight, 
Now are weeping, and despair 
Fills the once enchanted sphere ! 

II 'Tis a common joy I wis 

Thus to sport with maiden bliss — 

I, to thee, would gladly tell, 

But for laughing, what befell 

As I bore my burden light 

Venus' Fane to deck at night ; — 

Right along the roadside lay, 

Screened from the sun of May 

By a vine-entangled bower, 

Fairer youth than ever flower 

Culled to place on Beauty's breast, 

Where he fain himself would rest! 

Had my mother seen him there 

She had sworn him twice as fair 

As Adonis, once so dear: — 

Streaked with light, his dark brown hair 

Waved around as fine a brow 

As ever Phidias carved, I vow ; — 

His bright eyes outshone the stars — 

E'en the golden shafts of Mars, 



THE FLOWER-LADEN CUPID. 201 

And the God whose silver beams 

Mingle with our morning dreams ! — 

Easy was his attitude — 

No obtruding point or rude 

Marred the undulating line, 

Of his graceful form's recline : — 

~Now, methought, for glorious fun 

Ere Apollo's car has run 

To the western gate of Heaven, 

Where he baits his steeds at even. 

Soon I reached him — veiling nigh — 

"With the leaves that 'round my head 

Gracefully their drapery spread, — 

Half my visage — and an eye, 

Lest he should their cunning spy ! 

Trippingly I went along 

Like an infant drunk with song ; 

Chanting at the top of joy, 

" Love met once an idle boy," 

Waking all the echoes gay 

With my stirring roundelay ! 

Yain it fell upon the child 

Besting in the forest wild ! 

As I n eared his couch I slipped, 

And my quiver downward tipped, 

Scattering along the road 

All my bright and fragrant load. 

In a voice forlorn and drear, 

Mimicking a great despair, 

I addressed the youth and said : 

' Gentle stranger lend thine aid, 

I have from my mother strayed ; 

Help me to regain her treasure 

Or she'll chastise without measure, 



202 THE FLOWER-LADEN CUPID. 

Me, her poor afflicted son, 

For the mischief I have done.' " 

" Cupid, think not to beguile, 

Said the youth, with scornful smile, 

Me with thy deceitful wile, — 

Well I know thee — and those flowers, 

Saw thee steal from rosy bowers 

When the morn was blushing new, 

And a light breeze shook the dew 

From the leaves and plants — and threw 

Perfume forth to hail the day 

By Aurora led that way : — 

When at noon I passed by 

Naught was heard but wail and sigh, 

Rifled maidens' dreary cry — 

They were pure and bright at morn 

Ere thy warm kiss had withdrawn 

All the sweets — but left the thorn ! — 

I'll not touch the dangerous bloom, 

Nor inhale the rich perfume 

Of thy blossoms — Yes, I swear 

To thine Altar offering ne'er 

Of en wreathed bads to bear; 

In Idalian temple high 

Never heave a love-lorn sigh." 

"By great Aphrodite's power! 
By the Gods ! thou'lt rue this hour I 
Thou shalt bow thy haughty head 
Ere another day has sped." 

11 Tho' my arrows all were spent 
Yet a rose-shaft to me lent 



THE FLOWER-LADEN CUPID. 203 

Weapon keen enough to kill 

Sent by my unerring skill! 

Shyly I upon the bow 

Placed the thorn'd rose — and lo ! 

On his bosom fell a woe ; — 

As he felt the keen unrest 

Of the thorn within his breast, 

Off he started with the bound 

Of a wounded stag, with hound 

Closely in pursuit — and made 

For the thickest sylvan shade ; 

Trembling all with fear and pain, 

Dreaming there he would remain 

Till peace and strength returned again ! 

There a rosy girl he'll meet, 

And with love's soft accents greet, 

Lowly sighing at her feet ! 

She will catch his bosom's pain, 

And for ease my mother's Fane, 

Hand in hand they'll seek to gain — 

Then for Love's all glorious reign ! " 

Lo ! the reason of my chant, 
Happy, mirthful, jubilant ! 
Come and join th' exultant glee — 
" Cupid— lo Triumphe ! " 



204 A TWILIGHT WALK. 



& Twilight Walk. 



It is the hour when we were wont to rove, 

My youthful friend and I. He is not here, 

Yet will I venture forth alone, alone, 

And on the bank, where we so oft reclined, 

To watch the river in its noiseless flow, 

Sit musingly, and twine ideal wreaths, 

From Memory's garden culled — that fairy realm — 

To deck his thoughtful brow ; flowers brighter far 

Than those the rosy-fingered Spring entwines 

Around the forest trees, or wakes to life 

Beneath the dewy pressure of her feet. 

As she comes bounding through the fragrant glade. 

Made vocal with the song of happy birds, 

Darting in mirth around their bridal bowers, 

The flowers of Hope, Love, Joy and holy Peace, 

That Heaven-descended bud that blossomed erst 

In Paradise beside the Fount of Life — 

Lo ! where the golden gates of Heaven unclose, 

And gorgeous banners flaunt the evening air, 

To welcome the Day-god, with hot haste speeding 

Unto his couch of rest ! The western sky 

Is all ablaze with crimson, green and gold; 

"Whilst cloudy mountains lift their purple heads, 

In pomp magnifical, on either side ! 

How in a moment is the pageant changed ! 
E'en thus the beauteous visions of our youth 
Fade to the dun of manhood ; soon to be 
Lost in the night-like darkness of the grave. 



A TWILIGHT WALK. 205 

The solemn vesper hour now veils the earth 
With her dim, fleecy light ; her spirit sits 
Composedly in yon pale evening star 
Upon the border of the sable clouds. 

It is the hour when, arm in arm, we turned 
Our lingering footsteps homeward — vesper calm 
Resting upon our souls, by converse sweet 
Engendered ; or, the solemn word of Bard 
Poured forth in liquid music with the tones 
Of thy sweet voice, my Friend. Ah! when shall I 
Ever again such happy moments know ? 
When have a youthful heart repose on mine 
With love and trust so perfect ? Kindling there, 
By his sweet smile, and eyes of dovelike sheen, 
And most poetic heart, and Christian soul, 
The fire of life — almost burnt out and gone. 

And some do smile and think it "passing strange" 
That I do love thee with so deep a love, 
When thou art bat a youth on Being's shore, 
And I far launched upon the wave of life. 
Unhappy souls ! they little ween the joy 
Of hearts congenial intertwined in love ; 
Like clings to like — and souls of kindred stamp 
Will mingle — let the cold-eyed sceptic sneer — 
Though one be lodged in form of palsied eld, 
The other in a dimpled infant's breast. 

For many years I walked the earth forlorn, 
Seeking, with sighs, a kindred soul to find ; 
Sometimes my heart, deceived by specious show, 
The delicate light tendrils of her love 
Flung round a worthless object, as a vine 



206 A TWILIGHT WALK. 

Might clasp some withered tree, or cling to one 

That fed its veins with venom-tainted sap. 

But now there is a loving heart that beats 

Harmoniously with mine — with mine it thrills 

With sudden rush of joy, or sheds sweet tears 

Over the Poet's consecrated page ; 

And not a fiery hope, or passion strong ; 

No glory-tinted dream, or hope sublime, 

Has swept my breast that has not passed o'er his ! 

Father, I thank thee for his love ! — For theirs 
That form a sacred chain of linked hearts, 
Binding my captive will to yonder home 
Whose casement beams a welcome to me now. 

How luminous the firmament to-night 

Gleams through the rarified and frosty air — 

One more rapt look, and then, good-night, ye Orbs ! 

Oh! stars! ye keen-eyed sentinels that guard 

The outer wall of Heaven's eternal court, 

If aught of ill has mingled with my thoughts, 

As I have mused along my lonely walk, 

Let them not pass the sapphire battlements, 

And speed their way before the Throne of God, 

But drive them back to earth to die unbreathcd 

In the deep, silent caverns of my heart. 



THE FAREWELL. 207 



Edmund, thou wouldst have me sing thee 

Something ere thou leavest my side ; 
Little song — for dear remembrance — • 

I have tried ! 
But my heart is far too heavy, 

And my voice too full of sighs, 
And affection's fount up-springing 

Dims mine eyes! 
Thou must take these things for tokens — 

Take them in the place of song ; 
Some day when poetic pulses 

Beat more strong, 
And the tide comes gushing, gushing 

From fond Memory's silent cell, 
I a song may send thee, Edmund, 

Worthy in thy soul to dwell ; 

Song shall bind thee as a spell. 

Bind thee to the ancient homestead 

Thou hast blessed, too short a time, 
With the brightness of thy presence ; 

And the chime 
Of the rich, harmonious music 

Springing from thy youthful breast, 
Where no sigh of sin or sorrow 

Claims a rest ! 
Bind thee to the hearts now saddened ; 

To the eyes bedimmed with tears ; 
Loving eyes, henceforth must track thy 
Coming years; 



208 THE FAREWELL. 

Loving hearts, would shield thee ever 
From all sorrow — from all sin ; 

Loving hands, a wreath of glory 
Weaving for thyself to win ; 
Knowing thee so strong within ! 

• 
Ah ! already on my spirit 

Falls the shadow of a woe, 
As I mark the winged hours 

Come and go ; 
When I think to-morrow takes thee 

From our home, not hearts, away, 
No — those silent spirit chambers 
Shall for aye 
Hold the love to them entrusted, 

Hold the memory of the joy ; 
Fling sweet incense from their altars 

O'er thee, boy ! 
GrO — no song of mine shall waken 

Gloomy echoes on thy way ; 
By Love's holy star enlightened — 
And its pure effulgent ray 
Leading to the perfect day. 

For remember Poets ever 

Bear a keen prophetic spright ; 
They see deeper in the darkness 

And the light ! 
So with eyes fixed on the future 
Now I scan thy horoscope 
And the great stars stoop and whisper 
Words of Hope ! 



THE FAREWELL. 209 

Onward — for thy life expandeth 

To a bright and finished whole ; 
Onward — urge thy panting spirit 
To the goal ! 
Eich in youth, in health, in purpose, 

Naught should make thee swerve, or fail ; 
With thy resolute, bold nature 

Girding thee as coat of mail, 
Onward, man, thou shalt prevail ! 

Sooth thy poet is a woman — 

And her heart is full of love, 
And the sign upon that iEgis 

Is a Dove ! 
Lo ! she bends this pure shield o'er thee — 

Listen to its dove's soft tone : — 
Now with garlands of affection 

Would inzone, 
But for knowing that all flowers, 

Purely earthly, bloom to die, 
Therefore are her eyes uplifted 
To the sky ; 
And with cool palms fondly resting 

On thy head and glossy hair, 
Her true heart above the azure 

Soareth upward with a prayer 

For a blessing on thee, dear. 

" Father, to Thy care we leave him, 

Let him very safely lie, 
Like a weaned child in spirit 

'Neath Thine eye! 

18 



210 SPRINGTIME. 

Saviour, in Thy human body 

Seated on the Glory-Throne, 
Do Thou claim this youthful brother 

As Thine own ! 
Spirit pure, from both proceeding, 

God of comfort, joy and love, 
Send thy manifold great blessings 

From above, 
Let them fall as dews of Hermon, 

On his head, and in his breast. 
Till he's called to sleep with Jesus 

In a calm and holy rest ; 
May he waken in the mansions of the bl 



Springtime. 

'Tis Spring — and never did a brighter day 

Salute tby rose-bound tresses lovely May!* 

All nature smiles — and birds in bower and gro 

Pour from their happy bosoms liquid love, 

Upon the buoyant air entranced floats 

The music of those wild impassioned notes; 

Young beauty is astir — and I would fling 

All sadness from my heart and join her charmed rin< 

Fair from my open casement gleams to view 
The lakelet with its deep cerulean hue: — 
In fancy I am floating on its breast 
As on that evening, when the glowing west 

* The opening lines borrowed from Leigh Hunt : 

" 'Tis morn ! and never did a lovelier day- 
Salute Ravenna from her leafy bay" — 



SPRINGTIME. 211 

Lit up its waters, and our tiny boat, 

Left to the breezes' pleasure, seemed to float 

A fairy shell — or ark where calmly lay 

The passions in repose, like weary child at play ! 

Dost thou remember ? — I shall e'er retain 
The memory of one ramble : Blessed rain 
Not long before had fallen — and the green 
Of the young forest in a silvery sheen 
Sparkled, until the god-like sun a ray 
Left as a benison to lovely day, 
And all the landscape, 'neath a flood of gold, 
Lay an illumined page in Nature's volume old ! 

Now turning from the glory — under trees, 
Made musical by evening's sighing breeze, 
And arching overhead. How still and calm ! 
The silence fell upon our hearts as balm 
Upon care-wounded spirits — not a word 
In the dim twilight of the wood was heard 
To issue from our lips — A loving glance 
Had smote too rudely far that deep, soul-mingling 
trance ! 

Ah ! ne'er again upon that mimic lake — 

Nor in the green wood — nor through tangled brake 

Fragrant with jasmine, shall we ever stray, 

Or float, or dream the passing hours away : 

The tale is ended — the sweet poem closed — 

The roses withered that so late reposed 

Upon my bosom : Still around my room 

Thy sere, yet precious garlands shed a faint perfume. 



212 MAY. 



®ag. 

Who is this that cometh 
Tripping up this way? 

Glancing in the sunshine, 
Flashing 'neath its ray, 

Like a nymph of Faery 
Airy, bright and gay ? 

Gaily dance her tresses 

With the wavy air ; 
Gemmed with dew the roses 

Holding them with care, 
In their sweet embraces, 

From her forehead fair! 

Quivering in the sunlight, 

Sparkling in the rill, 
Glancing on the river 

By the rustic mill ; 
Her sweet influences 

Doth all Nature fill. 

When her sandaled foot-prints 
Brush the dewy mead, 

Song-birds' liquid music 
Pour upon her head ; 

And fresh flowers leap upward 
From their fragrant bed ! 

Lo ! her smile celestial 
Brightens all the air; 

Maketh this terrestrial 
Beam an Eden fair ; 

Emblem of the region 
Where the Angels are! 



MAY. 213 

Maidens ! haste to meet her 

Ere she flits away — 
Youths ! with garlands greet her 

For she will not stay ; 
Ye shall miss her presence 

From your path some day. 

Children ! fill your aprons 

With the flowers that spring 
Where her sweet breath floateth 

Zephyr on the wing — 
And her perfumed darlings 

Back upon her fling. 

Wake the slumbering echoes 

With your voices gay, 
Till they ring a chorus 

Like sweet bells at play ; 
Or the merry laughter 

Of some sylvan fay ! 

Who is this that cometh 

In the silvery sheen 
Of the dewy morning ; 

Clad in robe of green 
Crowned with budding blossoms 

Like a Faery Queen ? 

'Tis the fairest daughter 

Of the flowery Spring ; 
Loveliest of the graces, 

That around her cling ; 
May — then haste to greet her 

And her praises sing. 



214 MY PILGRIMAGE. 

Ask of her a blessing 
Ere she hies away ; — 

Heart forever keeping 
Joyance of the May ; 

Bosom where her flowers 
Bud and bloom for aye. 

Quivering in the sunshine 
Sparkling in the spray 

Of a silvery shower 
Tripping up this way, 

Through the arch of Iris 
Comes the merry May. 



1% tfilgrimage, 

BEFORE LEAVING THE " OLD PLANTATION," MAY, 1857. 



I. 

Eeach me my trusty staff and sandal shoon 
For I must wend on pilgrimage to-day : — 
Or ere the sun sets, or the pensive moon 
Comes out to tip the landscape with her ray 
I must have traversed all the pleasant way 
Eound by the rice-fields to the river's side ; 
For certes 'tis the flowery month of May — 
A.nd not much longer dare we here abide 
Or Death will sweep us hence with his dark restless 
tide! 



MY PILGRIMAGE. 215 

II. 

Out by the back porch ; down the gentle slope, 
Pass through the gate and turn toward the right ; 
Now give to Fancy ample verge and scope 
To range and frolic like a faery sprite; 
Lo ! this umbrageous foliage doth invite 
To linger in the shade that Poets love — 
Trust not the sylvan stillness — mellow light — 
Pause not to hark the songsters of the grove, 
Flinging their fond good-night from waving bough 
above ! 

III. 

Yet by the graveyard pause a little space, 
Albeit none but sable forms rest there ; 
Do not the willows wave with mournful grace ? 
Are not the sleepers quite as much Thy care 
Almighty Father ! though of humble sphere, 
As those who crumble 'neath sepulchral stone, 
Or proud mausoleum — how rich or rare ? 
Will not Thy mercy claim them as thine own, 
Did not for them, as well, Thy Holy One atone ? 

IY. 

Here rests that model form tho' bronzed its hue ; 

Here sleep those eyes which shone so softly bright ; 

How cold the manly heart that beat so true 

A note for Heaven, ere the veil of night 

Fell for a moment o'er his soul and light : — 

Yonder a broken-hearted mother sleeps — 

Here, where this new-made hillock hides from sight 

A drowned son, an aged father weeps, 

While for his blighted youth he midnight vigil keeps ! 



216 MY PILGRIMAGE. 

Y. 

And many aged souls, ripe Autumn grain, 

Have here been garnered from the Winter's cold ; 

We may not pass them by without the rain 

Of feeling dropping on the grass-grown mould ; — 

O, may they now be happy in the fold 

Of the immortal Shepherd ! There we know, 

The angels of the litle ones behold 

The Father's visage and in wisdom grow 

Meet for th' Eternal light will one day from it flow ! 

VI. 

Onward — and upward, for a tiny mount 

Invites the Pilgrim kindly to ascend — 

Plant well thy sturdy walking-staff — nor count 

The weeds and brambles that together blond 

T' impede thy passage ; soon the way will end, 

And the sweet scene repay thy little toil ; 

List to the music of the pines that send 

Perfume as well to mingle with the spoil 

Wind-rifled from the plants bepranking all the soil ! 

VII. 

Behold Mount Kath'rine! — 'tis a pleasant spot, 

Altho' its fame and history be unknown — 

We will not call it "Poplar Hill," for not 

A vesture of such tree an age has grown 

Upon its summit ! — twenty years have flown 

Since it received the name that now it bears, 

Yet doth a thought float round it like a zone 

Of starlight from the past — but ah ! sad tears 

Will mingle with the gleam that rises with those years. 



MY PILGRIMAGE. 217 

Till. 

Why ruffle up the past! How calmly rest 

The watered rice-fields 'neath the sun's good-night! 

Scarcely a ripple stirs their glassy breast, 

Thus let it be with thine. The road of right, — 

Altho' a thousand spectres thee affright, 

Looming up in the shadow — travel on, 

Soon shall the distant goal appear in sight 

Then will vain phantoms of the dark be gone, 

And Jesus give the crown His death for thee has won ! 

IX. 

Peace to yon mansion lifting o'er the trees 

Its venerable roof, 'neath which repose 

Hearts that beat fondly for me — may the breeze, 

From whate'er quarter of the heaven it blows 

Waft countless blessings to it — scatter woes 

And ills from out its precincts. Friendship's rest ! 

May the fast coming ages but disclose 

New virtues of thy rearing ! Honor's crest 

Wave from the front of those four fledglings of thy nest I 

X. 

Now with light foot-beat leave the breezy hill — 
Passing where soft a water channel glides ; 
Onward, while birds around thee sweetly trill 
Their evening song, and the proud sun-god hides 
Behind his purple canopy and bides 
His glorious reawakening : Who is here 
In the old mili at work ? A tear-drop slides 
Adown his cheek the while — cross o'er and cheer 
With word from G-od's own Book we know he keepeth 
near. 
19 



218 MT PILGRIMAGE. 

XI. 

Now on with quick accelerated tread — 

Dark hastens on apace — the night-birds wail ; 

The bright stars look from their celestial bed 

And sanctify the scene ! Soft vesper gale 

Plays musically sweet as from the rail 

Of the old bridge, I lean to hear it sigh 

Among the lithe reeds — like an o'er sad tale 

Told to the chime of some old minstrelsy, 

While silver drops rain down from gentle Beauty's eye ! 

XII. 

Old bridge ! how many recollections cling 

To thee and thy surroundings ? Here of yore 

A boy friend would soar-up on buoyant wing, 

As a glad bird, and streams of classic lore 

Pour from his heart! Last Sabbath eve thy shore 

I pressed with one, how holy, silver tide 

Rolling beneath these planks! Thy water bore 

Our spirits onward, in its gentle glide 

Far pass the verge of Time, or Jordan's gloomy side! 

XIII. 

Pure as the ideal of a poet's soul, 
Or lily-cup with dew-drops fed from Heaven ; 
Thy body formed of clear ethereal mould 
In early youth to God, by Faith was given ; 
Like Samuel, thou waitest morn and even 
Upon Jehovah ! And perchance hast heard 
His voice at midnight calling, nor hast striven 
To banish it thine heart. That Mighty Lord, 
Thou offerest to thy flock in his life-giving Word. 



MY PILGRIMAGE. 219 

XIY. 

E'en as the flowers of which you spoke that eve, 

Blooming in desert place for God alone ; 

So the calm beauty of your life you weave 

In these secluded wilds — our gifted one ! 

Our well-beloved Pastor ! In this zone,* 

This little zone 'twixt parallel of light 

And beauty beaming, be your Shepherd Throne 

Forever rooted ; from its modest height 

Send forth the perfect Law to rule our hearts aright. 

XV. 

Home through the Orchard, sung in early strain, 

The day is spent — Yet in this cot awhile 

I must abide with one in age and pain, 

Hand the low stool, and quick the pine-knots pile 

That light may reach the page ; I must beguile 

This weary soul from Earth. What better end 

To my calm pilgrim ramble than the smile 

Playing around thy mouth, my aged friend, 

While in the Saviour's praise our mutual voices blend ! 

*Kev. W. B. W. Howe, now Kector of St. Philip's Church, 
Charleston. 



220 A PORTRAIT FROM MEMORY. 

$. Portrait from Iftjemory. 



Oh ! for the Poet's power, 

Or Limner's art, this hour, 
To make thee start all life-like forth to view ; 

Thy locks of golden brown, 

So wildly streaming down ; 
And eyes, whose every change shot beams of beauty 
new! 

Perfect in manly grace ; 

No jarriDg line we trace : 
When in the game of Fence, with skilful art, 

Thy lithe foil's airy play, 

And eyes keen focal ray, 
Alike had power to pierce the foe or gazer's heart. 

To me thou art brighter far 

Than morn or evening star, 
Or young Apollo beaming forth the light ! 

More lovely than that flower 

Couched in serial bower 
That tempted Dian's self from her celestial height: 

Even that simple wand 

So often in thine hand 
vSeemed but to add to thy mysterious power ; 

Had it some weird-like charm ? 

Some wizard-might to harm ? 
Was't blessed, beneath the moon, in Sybil's lonely 
bower ? 



A VALENTINE. 221 

Ah me ! there was a spell — 

From it or thee that fell 
Upon my heart, and thrilled it into song ; 

And still it gives a sound, 

As when the wild wind's round 
Strike from iEolian wires, echoes deep and strong! 



$. Valentine. 



FOR E. M. G. 

To morrow is St. Yalentine, 

And I would send to thee 
A greeting from my distant home 

By the sparkling, green-rohed sea; 
I'm sitting by the lattice high, 

My seat in summer hours, 
To catch the fitful breezes' play, 

And the perfume of the flowers. 

But not to hail old Yalentine, 

The jocund Saint of Love, 
Would I borrow now the downy wing 

Of the low- voiced carrier dove ; 
It is no light and airy lay 

His pinion soon must bear, 
Such freight thy blue-eyed maiden may 

Confide unto his care. 

But I a note of high resolve 
Would strike from out my lyre, 

A note to rouse thy manly heart, 
To 'wake its latent fire: 



222 SLUMBERING POESY. 

For 'neath thy cold and calm extern 

Slumbers volcanic flame 
Shall burst, and bring before the world, 

For good or ill, thy name! 

Awake ! and consecrate the morn — 

The birth-morn of thy sire — 
With every high and holy vow, 

With every pure desire ! 
Be all thy sister's loving heart 

Would have her darling prove; 
Fulfil thy father's soaring hope, 

Thy mother's yearning love. 



Slumbering Foesy, 



I. 

Once more my spirit in the magic round 
Of Fancy has been sporting; building slight 
iErial castles upon Faery ground, 
Filled with ideal beauty ! What delight ! 
Meth ought my path had been forsaken quite 
By all such airy visions, ne'er again 
To flit before me in their beauty bright, 
And garments woven of the glorious grain 
Pair shining in the arc that cometh after rain ! 

II. 

For as a wood-nymph in a shady grot, 
Impervious to the Sun's reviving ray, 
Lies calmly slumbering while around the spot 
The wild-birds carol and the breezes play ; 



SLUMBERING POESY. 223 

Whore scarcely Pan himself might find the way 

Of entrance — tho' perchance a laughing Faun 

With ivy-crowned forehead there may stray, 

Brushing the silver dew at streak of dawn 

Just ere the morning star her radiance has withdrawn ! 

III. 

So in my bosom gentle Poesy 

Lay sleeping as if naught might break her trance; 
No sigh her bosom stirred to prophesy — 
No holy rapture kindled her soft glance — 
No thought ecstatic caused her to advance 
With springing feet toward Parnassus dread, 
And from Caslalia's classic stream perchance 
Quaff inspiration — and contented tread 
Beneath the sacred leaves have crowned the poet's 
head ! 

IV. 

I deemed thee dead — but lo ! the infant breath 

Of Spring came floating o'er thy slumbering eyes, 

Eich with the perfume of the flowery heath, 

And warm with sunny heat from azure skies ; 

It caused thee stir — but could not make thee rise — 

That power to Love o'er Nature's self was given, 

His magic touch through all thy body flies 

A living light-flash ! Thy long trance is riven 

And on exultant wing thou soarst from Earth to Heaven • 

Y. 

O Love ! O Friendship ! or by whate'er name 
Is named the passion that has roused my heart, 
Still work thou in that deep recess ; inflame 
All my dull nature by thy mighty art ; — 



224 SLUMBERING POESY. 

Yet may suspicion of the truth ne'er dart 
In the Magician's breast ! All hail the gift ! 
Albeit possession causes many a smart 
Of keenest anguish — for the muse can lift 
Our souls above the sea where our wrecked blessings 
drift, 

VI. 

Spirit of Inspiration ! Vision bright ! 

Now standing by my timid Poesy ; 

May she enfold thee in her arms of white? 

Or will thine essence fade before her eye 

As evanescent as a gentle sigh 

Wafted from woman's heart ? A happy dream? 

A note ^Eolian flitting wildly by ? — 

In transitory glory dost thou beam ? 

Or wilt thou, Faery Sprite, accompany life's stream ? 

VII. 

Say wilt thou lead her with thy gentle hand 
Along the flowery steepness of the hill, 
Until she views from far the Poet band 
Sitting in God-like beauty, calm and still, 
Each on his star-lit throne! To list the trill 
Of Phoebus' lyre floating down the wind, 
Whilst every august muse to her sweet will 
Tempers the music — and in every mind 
Apollo's heavenly notes responsive echoes find ! 

VIII. 

Thou fadest upon my vision — and art gone ! 
And my sad muse drops down on languid wing, 
And droops to her old covert, sick — forlorn — 
Never to mount aloft and freely sing, 



love. 225 

Unless once more the life-dispensing Spring, 

And that far greater power of Love unite 

Their genial essence, and around her fling 

Their magic spell resistless; Then in might 

She will again arise and take her Heavenward flight! 



hove, 



Dear one, seekest thou to know 
If my heart-blood's ruby flow, 
And its altar's burning glow 

Are for thee alone ? 

Listen to the tale I'll tell — 
Thou hast bound me in a spell ; 
Flowery fetters are they ? Well 
Still I am not free. 

By the paleness, or the flush 

O'er my conscious cheeks that rush ; 

By my heart's mysterious hush — 

Know thou art beloved. 

By the trembling of my frame 
When thy well-beloved name 
Unexpected to me came, 

Know thou art adored. 

By my fond heart's rapid beat 
When I catch thine accents sweet; 
Or thy smiling eyelids greet 

My approaching form. 



226 love. 

By the thrill which through my breast 
Rushes when ray hand is prest 
By thy hand — the truth 's contest 
That I love thee well. 

Scarce these tell-tale eyes of mine 
Dare I to uplift to thine, 
Ere the lids I quick decline 

Lest they should betray. 

By my spirit's varying flow 
Swelling high — then ebbing low; 
By my piteous sighs of woe 

Know thou art beloved. 

Keen the anguish of my heart 
When from thee I'm forced to part, 
By this token know thou art 

Treasured in my soul. 

By the jealous fire that burns 
In my bosom's secret urns 
When I fear thy spirit turns 

To another maid. 

By the blessings that I pour, 
From my heart's exhaustless store, 
On the one whom I adore 

Know thou art beloved. 

Know thou art beloved ! My breast 
Holds that secret unconfest 
And I solemnly attest 

There it shall abide. 



l'adiett. 227 



Like the perfumed lamps that burned 
Where the dead, to dust returned, 
Lay in antique tombs inurned — 

Glowing in my heart ! 

But perhaps when Time has flown 
And we meet before the Throne, 
There the secret may be known 

Of my loving breast ! 



Ah ! many weeks must pass away, 

And many months perchance, 
Ere I thy witching smile shall see 

Or, meet thy brilliant glance — 
Thy brilliant glance that as a flash 

Of summer, lightning plays, 
Throwing a halo round the close 

Of Life's declining days ! 

Thy smile ! Oh ! it has power to wake 

Within my bosom's close, 
The slumbering hope that in it lies 

As sunbeams 'wake the Eose. 
As sunbeams 'wake the sleeping Rose 

Within her fragrant bower, 
And turn to gems of sparkling light 

The sad-night's dewy shower! 

Thy word — thy softly whispered word, 

Floats as a zephyr light 
Upon my spirit's troubled tide 

As breezes of the night — 



228 THE MEETING. 

As breezes of the starry night 

Pla}^ o'er the heaving sea, 
On which the fairy moonbeams dance 

In airy, sportive glee ! 

Thy smile, thj- glance, th}- whispered woi 

Will they be garnered all, 
Until upon my startled ear 

Thy well-known fooisteps fall? 
Or, wilt thou cast those precious gifts 

Among the light and gay, 
All heedless of the loving heart 

That's breaking faraway? 



The Meeting, 



We met — 'twas after many years 

Of absence and of pain, 
And I had thought that we on Earth 

Should never meet again : 
We met — where we were wont to meet 

When life was all a dream, 
And the glad moments glided by 

Bright as a woodland stream. 

Days when we decked our bowers of joy 

With fragrant summer flowers, 
And all the tears our young eyes wept 

Were sweet refreshing showers — 
Were sweet refreshing shower-drops shed 

Upon the germs of Hope, 
That in our youthful bosoms gleamed, 

Fair, budding heliotrope ! 



THE MEETING. 229 

We met — and the long buried past 

Came sweeping o'er my soul 
As when the fierce Autumnal blast 

Breaks from the Northern Pole, 
And stirreth in his rude career 

The buds and flowers that lie 
Withered upon the garden beds, — 

On wild-wing rushing by ! 

Thus all the youthful hopes that slept 

Within my heart profound, 
Were by a blast from Memory's breath 

Whirled wildly round and round 
All sere and withered — yet the sight 

Of those long perished flowers 
Sufficed a secret sigh to swell 

O'er long- forgotten hours! 

I felt my bosom cease to beat ; 

I felt my visage pale; 
I felt a coldness all within 

As life itself would fail ! 
Then silently I breathed a prayer 

To vestal, maiden Pride, 
To help me in that needful hour 

My foolish fear to hide. 

tt is not that I love thee still — 

Oh, no! that day is past; 
Thou canst not now recall the gem 

Thy ruthless folly cast 
Into the Ocean of Despair, 

— Now many years agone — 
To sink beneath its booming tide 

As 'twere a worthless stone ! 



230 SONNET. 

No — no ; thy smile has lost its charm — 

Yet many things combine, 
Of late the tendrils of sad thought 

Around the past to twine ; 
One has been with us who was here 

In those bright hours of joy; — 
And, when we met, we gazed upon 

Another's darling boy ! 

Oh no ! — not Love — It is not Love 

That moves my spirit so, 
Yet some time o'er the vanished past 

Fond memory's tears must flow ! 
Not Love — Oh! I have done with Love! 

Nor shall a floweret more 
From the false Gardens of the Past 

Gleam in my bosom's core! 



Sonnet, 



() MliS. A. B. S.,OF COLUMBIA, S. C, ON DECLINING AN INVITA- 
TION TO ACCOMPANY HER TO ALABAMA. 



Farewell kind friend, I may not go with thee- 
But I shall follow on the wing of prayer, 
And hover round and bless thee even there 

Amid the happy circle, that with free 

Light-hearted mirth, and hospitable glee, 

Shall hail thine advent, and instate with care. 
Thee, venerable Mother, in the chair 

Kept sacred for thy use. Then think of me. 

Nor let the vision of my solemn face, 



SONNET. 231 

Throw gloom upon the gladness — but mine eye 
Beam, as it ever does when thou art nigh. 

And tell of true affection ; in it trace 

My heart's deep love which Time shall ne'er efface, 
And God shall bless in worlds beyond the sky. 



Sxxrmtft. 



TO MARY F. 



Pure as a moonbeam sleeping on the sea ; 
Or playing in the chalice of a flower, 
In some romantic Fairy-cultured bower, 
Seems thy sweet maiden presence unto me 
With its soft light, and holy witchery 
Of Christian graces ; the peculiar dower 
Of stern Affliction, who in Life's young hour 
Put out the Sun and left sad night to thee, — 
Yet not a night of darkness and of gloom, — 
Bright solemn stars look from its deep blue sky ; 
And silvery moonbeams ripple and illume 
Thy path else dreary — and allure thine eye 
To where thy friend amid perpetual bloom, 
Awaits thy coming in the realm on high. 



THE DREAMER. 



The Br^am^r. 



Maiden of the pensive air, 
Thoughtful brow and visage fair, 
Wherefore hast thou left thy home 
In these solemn woods to roam ? 
On this flowery bank to rest, 
When the sun toward the west 
Scarce his burning eye has cast, 
Or his noontide journey past? 

Know'st thou not that duties wait 
Clustering round the cottage gate ? 
Where thy aged mother sighs, 
There thy woman's mission lies ; 
Mortal man must gain his bread 
By the labor of the head, 
Or the sweat upon his brow — 
Dreamer, wake to duty now ! 

Wouldst thou be content to glide 
Down Life's deep and rapid tide, 
Like a blossom from its spray 
By the tempest swept away, 
Ere the germ of life was warmed — 
Ere the precious fruit was formed — 
To be cast, thy voyage o'er, 
Worthless on th' eternal shore? 

Wherefore hast thou left thy rest, 
In thy soft and sheltered nest 
By the altar's side, and flown 
Birdlike to the woods alone ? 



A FAREWELL TO THE OLD HOMESTEAD. 233 

Here thy plaintive lays to trill 
B.y some sweetly murmuring rill, 
Bather than attune thy throat 
To the Temple's solemn note ? 

Dreamer, it will be too late 
When thou stand'st before the gate, 
And high battlements of Heaven ; 
Then this answer will be given 
To thy oft repeated knocks, 
Though the very portal rocks 
'Neath the heavy blows — " Depart 
Jesus knows not who thou art." 

Wake then Dreamer, and thy rest 
Seek upon the Saviour's breast ; 
With his dove-like flock abide 
In the cleft Eocks rugged side, 
Till the howling wintry blast — 
Till the weary night is past — 
And sweet flowers of Spring appear 
To bloom through Love's eternal year. 



$. Fat^twU ta th# ®\& Ijam^stead. 



Alas! I must leave on the morrow this, the dear dome 
of affection — 

The home of my heart and my hope, where my joys 
and my sorrows have centered. 

Farewell, it is hard to quit thee and all thy surround- 
ings, 

Venerable homestead ! where erst in innocent child- 
hood I sported. 
20 



234 A FAREWELL TO THE OLD HOMESTEAD. 

'Twas here, in the springtime of life, my heart first 

opened its petals, 
And shed the rich perfume of love o'er a youthful 

and careless companion ; 
Here when the sunlight of May had called forth each 

wonderful blossom 
That springs from the soil of the heart. I culled me the 

rarest and fairest, 
And scattered them all in the path of one, how un- 
worthy the treasure ; 
Like a cup that ever is full, my heart poured forth her 

rich nectar, 
But he cared not to drink of its sweets, and it flowed 

back the waters of Marah. 
So when June came on in her strength, her sunlight, 

her flush, and her fever, 
I put forth my hand and seized the rosy garland of 

Pleasure ; 
The thorns entered deep in my flesh, and red blood, 

rolled down my white fingers. 
Methought I would choose me a friend, they are said 

to be better than kindred ; 
But my friend he mistook my word — the iron entered 

my bosom. 
Next I essayed me to sweep the golden harp of the 

Muses, 
Trembling, my hand 'woke a sound that passed away 

into — Oblivion. 
Since Love, the pure dew from the sky that falls and 

refreshes the spirit, 
And Pleasure, and Friendship and Song, had every one 

caus'd disappointment — 
Then said 1 " Give me my staff" and the amice cloak of 

the pilgrim, 



TO MY GODSON, T. B. P , IN ENGLAND. 235 

I will turn my face to the East, and make for the city 

of Sion ;" 
But the way it is lonely and drear, and darksome, and 

nickers 
The light that should lighten my steps, and beam on 

the pillar of Ezel : 
Yea, have I prayed with the sick ; yea, have I wept 

with the straying ; 
Yet fear I shall never attain where the angels in glory 

are singing! 
Here have I joyed and rejoiced; here have I wept and 

lamented 
Through Life's early Spring and its Summer; year by 

year as I came, 
Renewing heart-joy and heart-sorrow. And now in the 

Autumn 
Still cling, O homestead beloved! to thy bosom; when 

Winter's chill breath 
Recalls from afar the sad-hearted exiles, wide open 

thine arms to receive, 
And embraced let me lie, in life or in death, on thy 

bosom. 
May 16th, 1858. 



Ta »u 6-odson, T. 8. ?♦, in England. 

Little Godson, far away 

O'er the heaving billow, 
Nightly ere my head I lay 

On my downy pillow, 
I commend thee to the care 
Of the God who heareth prayer, 
Beg Him on His breast to bear 

And protect thee ever. 



236 TO MY GODSON, T, B. P., IN ENGLAND. 

On the breast of Jesus laid, 
Nestle close, lie soft and still, 

Of thy foes be not afraid, 
He will guard from ill ; 

Calmly look up in His face, 

There the lines of mercy trace ; 

Note the beam of Heavenly Grace 
Raying on thee ever. 

Listen to the cooing note 

Of the Spirit-Dove, 
On the pleasant air afloat, 

Wooing thee to love ! 
When my praj'ers are weak and vain, 
And thy childish accents fain 
Would mount up, to earth again, 

Beaten down by sin — 

He takes up our feeble cry. 

Bears it on his wing 
Where the cherubs wheel and fly, ' 

In a golden ring, 
Round Jehovah's cloud-wrapt throne, 
There with earnest, pitying moan 
Pleads for us before the One 

Died our life to win ! 

■ Listen ! all around thee there, 

In the Mother Land, 
Mystic music on thine ear 

Welleth sweet and grand ; 
Every venerable pile, 
Ruin hoar, and haunted aisle, 
Echoes lend to reconcile 

Sinners to The Slain ! 



TO MY GODSON, T. B. P., IN ENGLAND. 237 

Venerate her church, my child, 

Spring from whence our own, 
In this far-off western wild, 

From a rill has grown 
To a river flowing free, 
To the vast, eternal sea, 
In whose saving billows we 

Have been cleansed from stain. 

When upon the sparkling sands 

"With thy Mother dear, 
Or with romping, boyish bands 

Drinking English air — 
Think of one who evermore 
Longeth for her sea-girt shore ; 
Loveth her blessed ancient lore, 

And her poet band. 

that I could wing my flight 
O'er the sounding billow, 

To the Isle, my dream by night, 
When, on downy pillow, 

1 escape from every care 
Hedging me around, and there 
With my friend, and Godson dear, 

Press the British strand. 



238 LOVE AMONG THE ROSES. 

hove Jtmcmg the Eoses, 



In the springtime 'mong the roses 

Met I Love — he said to me, 
" Row a little down the river 

And a vision you shall see, 
Of a maiden bright and joyous, 

Not a blonde — but richly hued, 
Telling that her mantling blushes 

Come of noble Southern blood." 

Thrilling there among the roses, 

Said I to the Elfin Sprite, 
(Smiling archly mid the flowers ; 

Quivering his pinions light) — 
' ; But perchance the pretty maiden 

Coyly should avert her head, 
Wildly then my heart would flutter 

With a strange, mysterious dread." 

" Fearing that the word decisive, 

Trembling on her ruby lip, 
Might be one the budding blossoms 

Of my Spring of Life to nip ; 
Better then that I had never 

Launched my boat upon the stream, 
Dropping downward to the maiden 

In a sweet, delicious dream. 

" Floating — with the mystic influence 
Of the season on my soul ; 

Dreamily — } r et all in earnest, 
Bowing to its sweet control : 



STRAWBERRY FERRY. 2B9 

Godlike Love ! thy power is mighty, 
Filling Earth, and Air, and Tide — 

Tell me — shall I dare to woo her 
To become mine own — my bride?" 

Then he shook his golden pinions, 

Till the garden glowed with light, 
Spread them forth, and soaring upward 

Vanished in the azure height ; 
Hear the note he dropped to earthward 

As he fanned the fragrant air, 
"Never heart of timid lover 

Won the love of maiden fair ! " 

And I took his words for comfort — 

Prophesy of happy end ; 
And I dropped adown the river 

To my shy, awaiting friend; 
There she sat beneath the shimmer 

Of the trees' protecting shade ; 
And before the stars had risen 

I had won the blushing maid. 



Strawberry Ferrtj, 



A BALLAD. 



Not a May Day in the forest — 

But a May Day on the flood, 
Rocking for three mortal hotfrs, 

It was not so very good ; 
Rocking for three mortal hours, 

On a rough, unruly tide, 
Toiling, poling, sweating, fretting, 

For to reach the other side. 



240 STRAWBERRY FERRY. 

Very loath the lazy freedmen 

"Were to push us from the shore, 
Until "Johnny" kindly told them 

He would help to put us o'er; 
Stripping to the work in earnest, — 

Poling up against the stream, 
Wind and tide both set against us — 

This was no "delicious dream." 

At the fish-trap we were boarded 

By two travellers, who would, 
Like ourselves, have crossed the river 

By the ferry — if they could ; 
One a friend with whom in girlhood 

I had frolicked many a day, 
In the big house, now a ruin, 

That we passed upon the waj\ 



As the polers toiled, we chatted 

Pleasantly, to pass the time, 
Of the days long gone — and ever, 

When the world was in its prime ; 
When we fancied Time would never 

Eow us o'er Life's sunny stream, 
To the far-off Land of Shadow, 

Where the past becomes a dream. 

Now the flat had crossed the river, 

And the haven seemed at hand, 
Vain the hope, alas! as ever, 

We were not to reach the land, 
Wearied out, our two companions. 

Hailed a " darkie " paddling o'er, 
Ventured in his skiff — and after 

Sundry efforts, made the shore. 



STRAWBERRY FERRY. 241 

Then we drifted back to landward, 

Far below the Ferry slip ; 
Ban aground — and sighed for patience 

To endure our pleasant trip ; 
Then methought, in place of sighing, 

And to charm the tyrant Time, 
I would set our May Day frolic 

To a rough and rugged chime. 

Dreamily the snowy "Cloudland" 

Floated on the azure sky ; 
While the green verge of the river 

Lay refreshing to the eye ; 
But nor "cloudland" in its beauty, 

Nor the tree-tops shivering sheen, 
Could beguile the weary waiting, 

Or the heart from fretting wean. 

Eocked the flat— the brown wave sparkled 

'Neath the May sun's brilliant glow, 
While the wind dashed up the cooling 

Spray-drops to my fevered brow ; 
Far above in the pure ether 

Flew the buzzards — circling round 
Gracefully — then sweeping downward 

To their prey upon the ground. 

Cheerfully my young companion 

Took the tedious waiting time, 
For his heart made sweeter music 

Than my rough, unpolished rhyme ; 
Singing, softly, to a maiden, 

Love's bewitching roundelay ; 
Weaving visionary garlands 

For his chosen Queen of May. 
21 



242 STRAWBERRY FERRY. 

Hurrah ! see the tide is turning ! 

Three o'clock! — and now once more 
We are moving — onward — upward, 

Slowly by the pebbly shore ; 
Gnarled and knotted roots and branches 

Rest upon their marly bed ; 
While the song-birds shower music 

From the tree-tops overhead. 

Lo ! again the little " dug-out " 

Dancing lightly on the tide, 
Paddled by the two companions. 

Crosses to the Homeward side ; 
To the side I loved in gladness 

In my May Day's happy light ; 
To the side I love in sadness 

Now my May has suffered blight. 
In the Ferry-boat, May Day, 1867. 



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